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Mxniatnxt  Romances 


jfrom   tije   German, 


AVITH      OTHER 


PROLUSIONS  OF  LIGHT  LITERATURE. 


Millions  of  spiritual  creatures  walk  the  earth, 

Unseen,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep Milton. 


BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED  BY  C.  C.  LITTLE  &  J.  BROWN. 

1841. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  forty-one,  by 

C.    C.    LITTLE   AND    J.    BROWN, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


S.  N.  DICKINSON,  PRINTER, 
52  Washington  Street. 


J<**tfL 

*C3L 


TO    THE    MEMORY 

OF 

SAMUEL   TAYLOR  COLERIDGE, 

THESE   MINIATURE   ROMANCES 
AND   OTHER  PROLUSIONS   OF   LIGHT  LITERATURE, 

THOUGH  BUT  LEAVES  FROM  AN  ENCHANTED  FOREST, 

A  RE, 

With,  affectionate  gratitude 

For  the  teachings  of  his  Genius, 

Inscribed  by 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

Advertisement, 7 

Undine, 13 

The  Vial-Genie  and  Mad  Farthing,            ....  114 

The  Collier-Family;  or,  Red-Mantle  and  the  Merchant,  -  150 

Table-Talk  Notices  of   Phantasmion,  including   the   For- 
tunes of  Fairylore,      -------  166 

The  Almadora  Ravine, 179 

Faithful  or  False  ? 186 

The  Fortieth  Hour, 217 

Werter's  Warning, 249 

Maurice  ;  or,  Away  for  St.  Brendan's,          -  257 

L'Amore,  an  Italian  Translation,                                   *  311 

Notes, -  321 


ADVERTISEMENT 


The  following  translation  of  Undine,  one  of  the  minor  romances  of 
Frederic,  Baron  de  la  Motte  Fouque,  is  from  the  fourth  impression  of 
the  original,  that  of  Berlin,  1826.  It  was  made  in  the  winter  of  1835, 
and  has  since  received  such  revision  and  improvement,  as  the  kindness 
of  literary  friends,  in  connection  with  my  own  wish  to  do  as  little  injus- 
tice to  the  genius  of  the  author  as  I  could,  has  enabled  me  to  give  it. 

This  is  no  place  for  discussing  the  characteristics  of  Fouque,  but  he 
has  one  excellence  of  composition  so  rich  and  rare,  that  I  may  be  per- 
mitted to  allude  to  it  here  :  —  I  mean  his  harmonious  union  of  fiction 
and  fact,  his  exquisite  blending  of  the  natural  and  supernatural.  So 
perfect  do  we  find  this  union  to  be,  such  a  melting  indeed  of  both  into 
one,  that  we  hardly  know  in  which  of  the  two  we  feel  ourselves  most 
at  home.  We  have  the  true  feeling  of  real  life,  embellished  by  the 
magic  of  imagination,  —  just  as  the  frost-work,  which  at  times  we  see 
almost  spiritualizing  our  groves  and  shrubberies  in  winter,  constitutes 
so  much  of  their  peculiar  charm  ;  —  and  this  double  excellence  it  was, 
that  led  me  to  select  and  translate  a  few  specimens  of  this  writer's  Nat- 
ural and  Supernatural. 

Undine  is  a  beautifully  imaginative  tale,  a  masterpiece  in  this  depart- 
ment of  German  literature.  With  a  simplicity  of  the  antique  cast  it 
combines  the  most  picturesque  wildness,  unbroken  interest,  excellent 
principles,  a  peculiar  vein  of  pleasantry,  and  even  what  we  seldom  look 
for  in  works  of  this  kind,  touches  of  genuine  pathos.  We  are  esteemed, 
and  I  presume  justly,  a  less  imaginative  race  than  the  people  of  Ger- 
many. Our  traditions,  local  superstitions,  early  influences,  education, 
habits  of  thought,  and  other  circumstances  of  life,  are  of  a  more  com- 
mon-place order  than  theirs.  We  are  not,  it  may  be,  less  fond  of  legen- 
dary lore,  since  love  of  the  marvellous  seems  to  be  a  universal  impulse 
in  our  nature  ;  but  we  seek  its  enjoyment  with  the  mere  calm  approval  of 
fancy,  while  they  welcome  it  with  much  of  the  warmth  of  good  faith. 


Vlll  ADVERTISEMENT. 

Still,  if  'the  World  of  Reality,  not  the  Fairyland  of  Romance,' 
be  our  maxim,  the  spirit  of  truth  and  tenderness  is  no  where  wholly  ex- 
tinct :  long  as  it  may  lie  slumbering  in  the  soul,  it  is  too  inseparable  a 
part  of  our  being  ever  to  die.  Is  not  imagination  a  germ  of  immor- 
tality ? 

I  am  gratified  to  perceive  that  many  writers  allude  to  this  fiction  in 
terms  of  warm  commendation.  Menzel,  in  his  developement  of  German 
Literature,  of  which  we  have  lately  been  favoured  with  an  able  transla- 
tion, speaks  of  this  and  the  '  Vial-Genie,'  or  '  Mandrake,'  another  minia- 
ture romance  by  the  same  author,  in  these  words  :  "  Fouque's  '  Undine  ' 
will  always  continue  one  of  the  most  delightful  creations  of  German 
poetry.  Also  the  little  story  of  the  'Mandrake'  belongs  to  the  best 
elaborations  of  the  old  national  sagas,"  or  tales  of  the  supernatural,  de- 
rived from  the  voice  of  traditional  superstition.  But  the  most  accurate 
appreciation  that  1  have  seen  of  Undine,  J  find  among  those  golden 
fragments  of  the  richest  of  minds,  the  Specimens  of  the  Table  Talk  of 
S.  T.  Coleridge.  This  is  the  passage  to  which  I  refer  :  "  Undine  is  a 
most  exquisite  work.  It  shows  the  general  want  of  any  sense  for  the 
fine  and  the  subtle  in  the  public  taste,  that  this  romance  made  no  deep 
impression.  Undine's  character,  before  she  receives  a  soul,  is  marvel- 
lously beautiful." 

The  author,  to  whom  we  are  so  much  indebted  for  these  Specimens 
and  other  Literary  Remains,  and  to  whom  we  hope  to  be  more  and  more 
indebted,  as  well  for  these  labours  of  love  as  for  those  of  his  own  classi- 
cal genius,  observes  in  a  note  :  "  Mr.  Coleridge's  admiration  of  this  little 
romance  was  unbounded.  He  said  there  was  something  in  Undine 
even  beyond  Scott,  —  that  Scott's  best  characters  and  conceptions  were 
composed  ;  by  which  I  understood  him  to  mean,  that  Baillie  Nicol  Jarvie, 
for  example,  was  made  up  of  old  particulars,  and  received  its  individu- 
ality from  the  author's  power  of  fusion,  being  in  the  result  an  admirable 
product,  as  Corinthian  brass  was  said  to  be  the  conflux  of  the  spoils  of  a 
city.  But  Undine,  he  said,  was  one  and  single  in  projection,  and  had 
presented  to  his  imagination,  what  Scott  had  never  done,  an  absolutely 
new  idea." 

This  character  being  formed  according  to  the  principles  of  the  Rosi- 
crucian  philosophy,  it  has  been  suggested  to  me,  that,  to  enable  the 
reader  to  understand  and  appreciate  her  story,  I  ought  to  prefix  a  sketch 
of  that  system  to  my  translation,  and  I  once  thought  of  profiting  by  the 
suggestion.  On  reflection,  however,  I  cannot  but  view  the  work  as 
complete  in  itself.  Whatever  seems  requisite,  even  for  readers  least 
conversant  with  such  lore,  Fouque  has  contrived  to  incorporate,  and  I 
think  very  happily  too,  with  the  texture  of  his  fable.  See  the  develope- 
ments  of  the  eighth  chapter.  Every  body  enjoys  the  delightful  marvels 
of  the  Arabian  Nights,  marvels  that  have  almost  become  numbered 
among  the  commonplaces  of  our  experience  ;  even  children  understand 


ADVERTISEMENT.  IX 

the  machinery  of  genii,  magicians,  talismans,  rings,  lamps,  and  enchant- 
ed horses. 

To  this  fourth  edition,  and  it  may  be  to  an  earlier,  the  author  attached 
the  following  airy  and  graceful  '  dedication  : ' 

Vision  of  beauty,  dear  Undine, 

Since  led  by  storied  light, 

I  found  you,  mystic  sprite, 
How  soothing  to  my  heart  your  voice  has  been  ! 

You  press  beside  me,  angel  mild, 

Soft  breathing  all  your  woes, 

And  winning  brief  repose, — 
A  wayward,  tender,  timid  child. 

Still  my  guitar  has  caught  the  tone, 

And  from  its  gate  of  gold 

Your  whispered  sorrows  rolled, 
Till  thro'  the  world  their  sound  is  flown. 

And  many  hearts  your  sweetness  love, 
Though  strange  your  freaks  and  state, 
And,  while  I  sing  your  fate, 

The  wild  and  wondrous  tale  approve. 

Now  would  they  warmly,  one  and  all, 

Your  fortunes  trace  anew  : 

Then,  sweet,  your  way  pursue, 
And,  fearless,  enter  bower  and  hall. 

Greet  noble  knights  with  homage  due  ; 

But  greet,  all  trusting  there, 

The  lovely  German  fair  ; 
"  Welcome,"  they  cry,  "  the  maiden  true  !  " 

And  if  toward  me  one  dart  a  glance, 

Say,  "  He  's  a  loyal  knight, 

Who  serves  you,  ladies  bright,  — 
Guitar  and  sword,  —  at  tourney,  feast,  and  dance." 

The  reader  will  allow  me  to  observe,  in  closing  these  brief  notices, 
that,  supported  as  well  by  my  own  feeling  as  by  the  judgment  of  Men- 
zel, Coleridge,  and,  I  may  add,  by  the  general  voice  of  criticism,  I  view 
Undine  not  only  as  a  work  of  art,  but  as  something  far  superior,  an  ex- 
quisite creation  of  genius.     If  I  have  failed  to  do  justice  to  her  peculiar 


X  ADVERTISEMENT. 

traits,  in  thus  introducing  her  to  him  in  the  costume  of  our  language,  it 
is  not  owing  to  want  of  admiration,  or  of  studiously  endeavouring  to  be 
faithful  to  my  trust ;  and,  aware  of  the  difficulty  of  presenting  her  the 
*  vision  of  beauty  '  that  Fouque  « found  '  her,  he  will  forgive  the  fond 
impulse  of  my  ambition.  What  welcome  she  may  receive  among  us, 
it  remains  for  the  noble  knights  and  lovely  ladies  of  our  country  to  show. 
She  does  not  come  as  a  stranger,  —  she  has  already  been  once  greeted 
with  favour  ;  still,  wide  as  may  be  her  fame  in  the  world  of  letters,  she 
seems,  as  yet,  to  be  more  talked  of  in  the  world  of  common  readers, 
than,  if  I  may  so  speak,  known  in  person.  To  all  lovers  of  the  imag- 
inative, therefore,  —  to  every  "simple,  affectionate,  and  wonder-loving 
heart,"  —  her  fortunes  are  again  committed. 


This  translation  of  Undine  was  first  published  in  1839,  as  the  third 
volume  of  the  New  York  'Library  of  Romance,'  of  which  '  Phan- 
tasmen '  formed  the  first  and  second.  It  was  republished  also,  the 
same  year,  in  the  London  '  Standard  Library.'  Encouraged  by 
its  favourable  reception,  and  feeling  that  every  thing  of  value,  in  a  pic- 
ture so  closely  allied  to  poetry  as  this,  depends  on  skilfully  disposing 
the  colours  of  thought,  the  lights  and  shades  of  expression,  I  have  since 
that  edition  again  and  again  compared  it  with  the  German,  and  spared 
no  pains  to  render  it  less  unworthy  of  the  welcome  with  which  it  has 
been  honoured. 

What  I  proposed  to  myself,  as  a  general  if  not  an  invariable  rule  in 
translating  and  revising,  was  this,  to  adhere  to  the  verbal  import  of  the 
original,  whenever  a  freer  rendering  did  not  give  promise  of  more  clear- 
ness, beauty,  or  force  of  expression,  in  English.  Freedom  and  fidelity, 
indeed,  have  been  my  continual  aim  ;  but,  notwithstanding  the  imper- 
fections which  I  have  from  time  to  time  detected  and  removed,  when  I 
perceive  how  faint  a  shadow  my  version  is  of  the  vivid  original,  I  am 
able  to  make  no  higher  boast  than  that  of  having  tried  to  copy  the  au- 
thor's fineness  and  subtlety  of  conception,  as  well  as  the  ease  and  sim 
plicity  of  his  execution.  Still,  however  inadequate  the  translation  may 
be,  and  however  perfect  a  copy  some  more  expert  translator  may  produce, 
few  or  none  will  ever  submit  to  a  like  process  of  revision  and  improve- 
ment to  make  it  such  ;  and  though  '  a  labour  of  love,'  as  one  of  my 
reviewers  has  been  pleased  to  call  my  work,  —  a  striving  after  accuracy 
of  thought  and  expression,  as  if  it  were  a  case  of  conscience,  —  it  is  a 
labour,  that  I  would  fain  hope  I  shall  seldom  find  it  necessary  to  repeat. 

The  Vial-Genie  and  Mad  Farthing,  entitled  in  the  original  "  Das 
Galgenmännlein,"  I  translate  from  Fouque's  "  Kleine  Romane,"  or 
Little  Romances.  Its  peculiar  merit  was  suggested  to  me  by  a  friend, 
(the  late  deeply  lamented  Dr.  Charles  Follen,)  most  familiar  with 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


what  he  happily  called  "  the  interminable  forest  of  German  literature  " 
and  to  him  I  am  therefore  indebted  for  the  pleasant  labour  of  translation. 
To  many  minds,  it  is  probable,  the  liveliness  of  the  fiction,  its  rapid 
transitions  of  fortune,  its  natural  developement  of  feeling,  its  air  of  ear- 
nest reality,  the  danger  it  impresses  of  tampering  with  evil,  and  the  fine 
moral  influence  of  its  crowd  of  incidents,  will  be  even  more  arresting 
than  the  greater  delicacy,  sweetness,  and  imaginative  power  of  Undine. 
Vial-Genies  and  Mad  Farthings,  being  more  tangible  to  the  general 
reader,  are  more  formed  to  gratify  the  popular  taste,  than  (if  I  may 
venture  to  use  such  a  phrase)  the  spiritual  picturesque  of  Nature,  or  the 
tender  glimpses  of  the  heart. 

The  Collier-Family,  or  Red-Mantle  and  the  Merchant  is  a 
translation  of  Fouque's  "  Die  Köhlerfamilie,"  one  of  his  New  Tales 
or  Minor  Romances.  He  calls  it  a  'remarkable  adventure  '  in  the  life 
of  a  German  merchant.  Tt  is  indeed  as  original  in  its  conception  as  it 
is  happy  in  its  execution,  blending,  in  a  manner  peculiarly  the  author's 
own,  the  fine  touches  of  imagination  with  the  homeliness  of  common 
life.  Its  moral  is  admirable,  perhaps  the  only  infallible  charm  for  laying 
the  evil  spirit  of  the  times. 

Allusion  being  often  made  in  this  volume  to  the  Almadora  Ravine 
a  scene  of  no  visionary  attributes,  I  thought  the  reader  might  be  desirous 
as  well  as  the  lady,  of  a  more  particular  introduction.  Such  is  one  of 
the  purposes  of  this  little  panorama.  The  picture  is  of  the  Flemish 
school,  taken  immediately  from  Nature,  and  without  one  touch  of  fiction 
in  its  composition.  The  first  sketches  or  brief  outlines  of  the  pieces  it 
illustrates,  were  made  many  years  ago,  (more  than  three  times  the  num- 
ber required  by  the  nine-year  dogma  of  Horace,)  but  they  were  finished 
at  a  later  period.  All  who  may  have  loved,  in  the  morning  of  their 
creative  power,  to  weave  these  webs  of  "  elfine  loom,"  will  speak  in 
their  defence  the  kind  word  of  Shakspeare's  Theseus  :  "  The  best  in 
this  kind  are  but  shadows  ;  and  the  worst  are  no  worse,  if  imagination 
amend  them."     I   know  not  whether  they  "are  worth  preserving    but 

possibly  they  may  find  favour  with  some  few  readers  of  this  class  

such  as,  yet  feeling  within  them  somewhat  of  the  freshness  of  youthful 
impulse,  are  not  too  wise  to  love  the  workings  of  Fancy,  — 

"  the  power 


That  first  unsensualizes  the  dark  mind, 
Giving  it  new  delights ;  and  bids  it  swell 
With  wild  activity." 


Errata.  — Page  33,  line  33,  read  'stopt,  trembling.'  — P.  121,  1.  21, 
read  'wild  and  extravagant.'  —  P.  122,  1.  22,  read  'devils'  doggerel.'  — 
P.  136,  1.  — 29,  read  '  variation.'  — P.  151,  1.  19,  read  'then  willingly.' 
—  P.  163,  1.  28,  read  'heart."' — P.  171,  1.  19,  read  'scouring.'  —  P. 
196,  1.  35,  read  'could.'  —  P.  255,  1.  15,  read  'communion's  dream.'  — 
P.  255, 1.  27,  read  '  Goethe.'  —  P.  290, 1.  7,  read  '  this  Goshen.'  —  P.  306, 
1.  7,  read  'I  hope.'  —  P.  316,  1.  5,  put  a  period  after  'doglie.'  —  P.  316, 
1.  24,  read  '  Spirar.'  —  P.  318, 1.  6,  put  a  period  after  '  orgogliosa.' 

These  errata,  minute  as  they  are,  the  reader  will  have  the  goodness 
to  correct,  with  some  few  others  of  still  slighter  moment. 


UNDINE 


CHAPTER  I 


HOW  A  KNIGHT  CAME  TO  A  FISHERMAN'S  COTTAG-E. 


Once  on  a  beautiful  evening,  it  may  now  be  many 
hundred  years  ago,  there  was  a  worthy  old  fisherman 
who  sat  before  his  door  mending  his  nets. 

Now  the  corner  of  the  world  where  he  dwelt,  was  ex- 
ceedingly picturesque.  The  green  turf  on  which  he  had 
built  his  cottage,  ran  far  out  into  a  great  lake  ;  and  this 
slip  of  verdure  appeared  to  stretch  into  it  as  much  through 
love  of  its  clear  waters,  blue  and  bright,  as  the  lake,  moved 
by  a  like  impulse,  strove  to  fold  the  meadow,  with  its  wav- 
ing grass  and  flowers,  and  the  cooling  shade  of  the  trees, 
in  its  fond  embrace.  Such  were  the  freshness  and  beauty 
of  both,  that  they  seemed  to  be  drawn  toward  each  other, 
and  the  one  to  be  visiting  the  other  as  a  guest. 

With  respect  to  human  beings,  indeed,  in  this  pleasant 
spot,  after  excepting  the  fisherman  and  his  family,  there 
were  few  or  rather  none  to  be  met  with.  For  in  the  back- 
ground of  the  scene,  toward  the  west  and  northwest,  lay 
a  forest  of  extraordinary  wildness,  which,  owing  to  its 
gloom  and  its  being  almost  impassable,  as  well  as  to  fear 
of  the  strange  creatures  and  visionary  forms  to  be  encoun- 
tered there,  most  people  avoided  entering,  unless  in  cases 
of  extreme  necessity.  The  pious  old  fisherman,  however, 
many  times  passed  through  it  without  harm,  when  he 
carried  the  fine  fish,  which  he  caught  by  his  beautiful  strip 
2 


14 

of  land,  to  a  great  city  lying  only  a  short  distance  beyond 
the  extensive  forest. 

Now  the  reason  he  was  able  to  go  through  this  wood 
with  so  much  ease,  may  have  been  chiefly  this,  because 
he  entertained  scarcely  any  thoughts  but  such  as  were  of  a 
religious  nature  ;  and  besides,  every  time  he  crossed  the 
evil-reported  shades,  he  used  to  sing  some  holy  song  with 
a  clear  voice  and  from  a  sincere  heart. 

Well,  while  he  sat  by  his  nets  this  evening,  neither  fear- 
ing nor  devising  evil,  a  sudden  terror  seized  him,  as  he 
heard  a  rushing  in  the  darkness  of  the  wood,  that  resembled 
the  trampling  of  a  mounted  steed,  and  the  noise  continued 
every  instant  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  to  his  little  territory. 

What  he  had  fancied,  when  abroad  in  many  a  stormy 
night,  respecting  the  mysteries  of  the  forest,  now  flashed 
through  his  mind  in  a  moment  ;  especially  the  figure  of  a 
man  of  gigantic  stature  and  snow-white  appearance,  who 
kept  nodding  his  head  in  a  portentous  manner.  Yes,  when 
he  raised  his  eyes  toward  the  wood,  the  form  came  before 
him  in  perfect  distinctness,  as  he  saw  the  nodding  man 
burst  forth  from  the  mazy  web-work  of  leaves  and  branches. 
But  he  immediately  felt  emboldened,  when  he  reflected 
that  nothing  to  give  him  alarm  had  ever  befallen  him  even 
in  the  forest ;  and  moreover,  that  on  this  open  neck  of 
land  the  evil  spirit,  it  was  likely,  would  be  still  less  daring 
in  the  exercise  of  its  power.  At  the  same  time,  he  prayed 
aloud  with  the  most  earnest  sincerity  of  devotion,  making 
use  of  a  passage  of  the  Bible.  This  inspired  him  with 
fresh  courage  ;  and  soon  perceiving  the  illusion,  the  strange 
mistake  into  which  his  imagination  had  betrayed  him,  he 
could  with  difficulty  refrain  from  laughing.  The  white, 
nodding  figure  he  had  seen,  became  transformed,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  to  what  in  reality  it  was,  a  small 
brook,  long  and  familiarly  known  to  him,  which  ran  foaming 
from  the  forest,  and  discharged  itself  into  the  lake. 

But  what  had  caused  the  startling  sound,  was  a  knight, 
arrayed  in  sumptuous  apparel,  who  beneath  the  shadows 
of  the  trees  came  riding  toward  the  cottage.  His  doublet 
was  of  violet  blue,  embroidered  with  gold,  and  his  scarlet 
cloak  hung  gracefully  over  it ;  on  his  cap  of  burnished 
gold  waved  red  and  violet-colored  plumes,  and  in  his  golden 


15 

shoulder-belt  flashed  a  sword,  richly  ornamented  and 
extremely  beautiful.  The  white  barb  that  bore  the  knight, 
was  more  slenderly  built  than  battle-horses  usually  are  ; 
and  he  touched  the  turf  with  a  step  so  light  and  elastic, 
that  the  green  and  flower-woven  carpet  seemed  hardly  to 
receive  the  slightest  break  from  his  tread.  The  old  fisher- 
man, notwithstanding,  did  not  feel  perfectly  secure  in  his 
mind,  although  he  was  forced  to  believe,  that  no  evil  could 
be  feared  from  an  appearance  so  prepossessing  ;  and  there- 
fore, as  good  manners  dictated,  he  took  off  his  hat  on  the 
knight's  coming  near,  and  quietly  remained  by  the  side  of 
his  nets. 

When  the  stranger  stopped,  and  asked  whether  he  with 
his  horse  could  have  shelter  and  entertainment  there  for 
the  night,  the  fisherman  returned  answer :  "  As  to  your 
horse,  fair  Sir,  I  have  no  better  stable  for  him  than  this 
shady  meadow,  and  no  better  provender  than  the  grass 
that  is  growing  here.  But  with  respect  to  yourself,  you 
shall  be  welcome  to  our  humble  cottage, — to  the  best 
supper  and  lodging  we  are  able  to  give  you." 

The  knight  was  well  contented  with  this  reception  ;  and 
alighting  from  his  horse,  which  his  host  assisted  him  to 
relieve  from  saddle  and  bridle,  he  let  him  hasten  away  to 
the  fresh  feeding-ground,  and  thus  spoke  :  "  Even  had  I 
found  you  less  hospitable  and  kindly  disposed,  my  worthy 
old  friend,  you  would  still,  I  suspect,  hardly  have  got  rid 
of  me  to-day  ;  for  here,  I  perceive,  a  broad  lake  lies  before 
us,  and  as  to  riding  back  into  that  wood  of  wonders,  with 
the  shades  of  evening  deepening  around  me,  may  Heaven 
in  its  grace  preserve  me  from  the  thought !  " 

"  Pray,  not  a  word  of  the  wood,  or  of  returning  into  it !  " 
said  the  fisherman,  and  took  his  guest  into  the  cottage. 

There,  beside  the  hearth,  from  which  a  frugal  fire  was 
diffusing  its  light  through  the  clean  dusky  room,  sat  the 
fisherman's  aged  wife  in  a  great  chair.  At  the  entrance  of 
their  noble  guest,  she  rose  and  gave  him  a  courteous  wel- 
come, but  sat  down  again  in  her  seat  of  honour,  not  making 
the  slightest  offer  of  it  to  the  stranger.  Upon  this  the 
fisherman  said  with  a  smile : 

"  You  must  not  be  offended  with  her,  young  gentleman, 
because  she  has  not  given  up  to  you  the  best  chair  in  the 


16 

house  ;  it  is  a  custom  among  poor  people  to  look  upon  this 
as  the  privilege  of  the  aged." 

"  Why,  husband  !  "  cried  the  old  lady  with  a  quiet  smile, 
"  where  can  your  wits  be  wandering  ?  Our  guest,  to  say 
the  least  of  him,  must  belong  to  a  Christian  country,  and 
how  is  it  possible  then,  that  so  well-bred  a  young  man,  as 
he  appears  to  be,  could  dream  of  driving  old  people  from 
their  chairs  ?  Take  a  seat,  my  young  master,"  continued 
she,  turning  to  the  knight;  "there  is  still  quite  a  snug 
little  chair  across  the  room  there,  only  be  careful  not  to 
shove  it  about  too  roughly,  for  one  of  its  legs,  I  fear,  is 
none  of  the  firmest." 

The  knight  brought  up  the  seat  as  carefully  as  she  could 
desire,  and  sat  down  upon  it  with  gentlemanly  good- 
humour  ;  while  it  seemed  to  him  for  a  moment,  that  he 
must  be  somehow  related  to  this  little  household,  and  have 
just  returned  home  from  abroad. 

These  three  worthy  people  now  began  to  converse  in 
the  most  friendly  and  familiar  manner.  In  relation  to  the 
forest,  indeed,  concerning  which  the  knight  occasionally 
made  some  inquiries,  the  old  man  chose  to  know  and  say 
but  little  ;  at  any  rate  he  was  of  opinion,  that  slightly 
touching  upon  it,  at  this  hour  of  twilight,  wras  most  suitable 
and  safe  ;  but  of  the  cares  and  comforts  of  their  home  and 
their  business  abroad,  the  aged  couple  spoke  more  freely, 
and  listened  also  with  eager  curiosity,  as  the  knight 
recounted  to  them  his  travels,  and  how  he  had  a  castle 
near  one  of  the  sources  of  the  Danube,  and  that  his  name 
was  Sir  Huldbrand  of  Ringstetteru 

Already  had  the  stranger,  while  they  were  in  the  midst 
of  their  talk,  been  aware  at  times  of  a  splash  against  the 
little  low  window,  as  if  some  one  were  dashing  water 
against  it.  The  old  man,  every  time  he  heard  the  noise, 
knit  his  brows  with  vexation  ;  but  at  last,  when  the  whole 
sweep  of  a  shower  came  pouring  like  a  torrent  against  the 
panes,  and  bubbling  through  the  decayed  frame  into  the 
room,  he  started  up  indignant,  rushed  to  the  window,  and 
cried  with  a  threatening  voice  : 

"  Undine  !  will  you  never  leave  off  these  fooleries  ?  not 
even  to-day,  when  we  have  a  stranger-lord  with  us  in  the 
cottage?" 


17 

All  without  now  became  still,  only  a  low  titter  was  just 
perceptible,  and  the  fisherman  said,  as  he  came  back  to  his 
seat :  "  You  will  have  the  goodness,  my  honored  guest,  to 
pardon  this  freak,  and  it  may  be  a  multitude  more,  but  she 
has  no  feeling  of  evil  or  any  thing  improper.  This  mis- 
chievous Undine,  to  confess  the  truth,  is  our  adopted 
daughter,  and  she  stoutly  refuses  to  give  over  this  frolic- 
some childishness  of  hers,  although  she  has  already  entered 
her  eighteenth  year.  But  in  spite  of  this,  as  I  said  before, 
she  is  at  heart  one  of  the  very  best  children  in  the  world." 

"  You  may  say  so,"  broke  in  the  old  lady,  shaking  her 
head,  — "you  can  give  a  better  account  of  her  than  I  can. 
When  you  return  home  from  fishing,  or  from  selling  your 
fish  in  the  city,  you  may  think  her  frolics  very  delightful. 
But  to  have  her  figuring  about  you  the  whole  day  long, 
and  never,  from  morning  to  night,  to  hear  her  speak  one 
word  of  sense ;  and  then,  as  she  grows  older,  instead  of 
having  any  help  from  her  in  the  family,  to  find  her  a  con- 
tinual cause  of  anxiety,  lest  her  wild  humours  should  com- 
pletely ruin  us,  —  that  is  quite  a  different  affair,  and  enough 
at  last  to  weary  out  the  patience  even  of  a  saint." 

"Well,  well,"  replied  the  master  of  the  house,  with  a 
smile,  "  you  have  your  trials  with  Undine,  and  I  have  mine 
with  the  lake.  The  lake  often  beats  down  my  dams,  and 
breaks  the  meshes  of  my  nets,  but  for  all  that  I  have  a 
strong  affection  for  it  ;  and  so  have  you,  in  spite  of  your 
mighty  crosses  and  vexations,  for  our  nice  pretty  little 
child.     Is  it  not  true  ?  " 

"  One  cannot  be  very  angry  with  her,"  answered  the  old 
lady,  as  she  gave  her  husband  an  approving  smile. 

That  instant  the  door  flew  open,  and  a  girl  of  slender 
form,  almost  a  very  miniature  of  woman,  her  hair  flaxen 
and  her  complexion  fair,  in  one  word,  a  blonde-like  miracle 
of  beauty,  slipped  laughing  in,  and  said  :  "  You  have  only 
been  making  a  mock  of  me,  father ;  for  where  now  is  the 
guest  you  mentioned  ?  " 

The  same  moment,  however,  she  perceived  the  knight 
also,  and  continued  standing  before  the  comely  young  man 
in  fixed  astonishment.  Huldbrand  was  charmed  with  her 
graceful  figure,  and  viewed  her  lovely  features  with  the 
more  intense  regard,  as  he  imagined  it  was  only  her  surprise 
2* 


that  allowed  him  the  opportunity,  and  that  she  would  soon 
turn  away  from  his  gaze  with  double  bashfulness.  But  the 
event  was  the  very  reverse  of  what  he  expected.  For 
after  now  regarding  him  quite  a  long  while,  she  felt  more 
confidence,  moved  nearer,  knelt  down  before  him,  and, 
while  she  played  with  a  gold  medal,  which  he  wore  attached 
to  a  rich  chain  on  his  breast,  exclaimed  : 

"  Why,  you  beautiful,  you  friendly  guest  !  how  have 
you  reached  our  poor  cottage  at  last?  Have  you  been 
obliged,  for  years  and  years,  to  wander  about  the  world, 
before  you  could  catch  one  glimpse  of  our  nook  ?  Do  you 
come  out  of  that  wild  forest,  my  lovely  friend  ?  " 

The  old  woman  was  so  prompt  in  her  reproof,  as  to  allow 
him  no  time  to  answer.  She  commanded  the  maiden  to 
rise,  show  better  manners,  and  go  to  her  work.  But  Un- 
dine, without  making  any  reply,  drew  a  little  footstool  near 
Huldbrand's  chair,  sat  down  upon  it  with  her  netting,  and 
said  in  a  gentle  tone  : 

"  I  will  work  here." 

The  old  man  did  as  parents  are  apt  to  do  with  children, 
to  whom  they  have  been  over-indulgent.  He  affected  to 
observe  nothing  of  Undine's  strange  behaviour,  and  was 
beginning  to  talk  about  something  else.  But  this  was 
what  the  little  girl  would  nofffilow  him  to  do.  She  broke 
in  upon  him :  "  I  have  asked  our  kind  guest,  from  whence 
he  has  come  among  u's,  and  he  has  not  yet  answered  me." 

"  I  come  out  of  the  forest,  you  lovely  little  vision," 
Huldbrand  returned,  and  she  spoke  again : 

"  You  must  also  tell  me  how  you  came  to  enter  that 
forest,  so  feared  and  shunned,  and  the  marvellous  adventures 
you  met  with  there  ;  for  there  is  no  escaping,  I  guess, 
without  something  of  this  kind." 

Huldbrand  felt  a  slight  shudder,  on  remembering  what 
he  had  witnessed,  and  looked  involuntarily  toward  the 
window  ;  for  it  seemed  to  him,  that  one  of  the  strange 
shapes,  which  had  come  upon  him  in  the  forest,  must  be 
there  grinning  in  through  the  glass;  but  he  discerned  noth- 
ing except  the  deep  darkness  of  night,  which  had  now 
enveloped  the  whole  prospect.  Upon  this,  he  became 
more  collected,  and  was  just  on  the  point  of  beginning  his 
account,  when  the  old  man  thus  interrupted  him  : 


19 

"  Not  so.  Sir  knight ;  this  is  by  no  means  a  fit  hour  for 
such  relations." 

But  Undine,  in  a  state  of  high  excitement,  sprang  up 
from  her  little  cricket,  braced  her  beautiful  arms  against 
her  sides,  and  cried,  placing  herself  directly  before  the 
fisherman  :  "  He  shall  not  tell  his  story,  father  ?  he  shall 
not  ?  But  it  is  my  will ;  he  shall !  he  shall,  stop  him  who 
may!" 

Thus  speaking,  she  stamped  her  neat  little  foot  vehe- 
mently on  the  floor,  but  all  with  an  air  of  such  comic  and 
good-humoured  simplicity,  that  Huldbrand  now  found  it 
quite  as  hard  to  withdraw  his  gaze  from  her  wild  emotion, 
as  he  had  before  from  her  gentleness  and  beauty.  The 
old  man,  on  the  contrary,  burst  out  in  unrestrained  displeas- 
ure. He  severely  reproved  Undine  for  her  disobedience 
and  her  unbecoming  carriage  toward  the  stranger,  and  his 
good  old  wife  joined  him  in  harping  on  the  same  string. 

By  these  rebukes  Undine  was  only  excited  the  more. 
"  If  you  want  to  quarrel  with  me,"  she  cried,  "  and  will 
not  let  me  hear  what  I  so  much  desire,  then  sleep  alone  in 
your  smoky  old  hut  !  " — And  swift  as  an  arrow  she  shot 
from  the  door,  and  vanished  amid  the  darkness  of  the  night. 


CHAPTER  II 


IN  WHAT  MANNER  UNDINE  HAD  COME  TO  THE  FISHERMAN. 


Huldbrand  and  the  fisherman  sprang  from  their  seats, 
and  were  rushing  to  stop  the  angry  girl ;  but  before  they 
could  reach  the  cottage  door,  she  had  disappeared  in  the 
cloud-like  obscurity  without,  and  no  sound,  not  so  much 
even  as  that  of  her  light  foot-step,  betrayed  the  course  she 
bad  taken.  Huldbrand  threw  a  glance  of  inquiry  toward 
his  host:  it  almost  seemed  to  him,  as  if  his  whole  inter- 
view with  the  sweet  apparition,  which  had  so  suddenly 
plunged  again  amid  the  night,  were  no  other  than  a  contin- 
uation of  the  wonderful  forms,  that  had  just  played  their 
mad  pranks  with  him  in  the  forest;  but  the  old  man  mut- 
tered between  his  teeth : 

"  This  is  not  the  first  time  she  has  treated  us  in  this 
manner.  Now  must  our  hearts  be  filled  with  anxiety,  and 
our  eyes  find  no  sleep,  the  livelong  night ;  for  who  can 
assure  us,  in  spite  of  her  past  escapes,  that  she  will  not 
some  time  or  other  come  to  harm,  if  she  thus  continue  out 
in  the  dark  and  alone  until  daylight  ?  " 

"  Then  pray,  for  God's  sake,  father,  let  us  follow  her," 
cried  Huldbrand  anxiously. 

"  Wherefore  should  we  ? "  replied  the  old  man ;  "  it 
would  be  a  sin,  were  I  to  suffer  you,  all  alone,  to  search 
after  the  foolish  girl  amid  the  lonesomeness  of  night ;  and 
my  old  limbs  would  fail  to  carry  me  to  this  wild  rover, 
even  if  I  knew  to  what  place  she  has  hurried  off." 

"  Still  we  ought  at  least  to  call  after  her,  and  beg  her 
to  return,"  said  Huldbrand ;  and  he  began  to  call  in  tones 


21 

of  earnest  entreaty  :  "  Undine  !  Undine  !  come  back,  pray 
come  back  ! " 

The  old  man  shook  his  head,  and  said  :  "  All  your 
shouting,  however  loud  and  long,  will  be  of  no  avail ;  you 
know  not  as  yet,  Sir  knight,  what  a  self-willed  thing  the 
little  wilding  is."  But  still,  even  hoping  against  hope,  he 
could  not  himself  cease  calling  out  every  minute,  amid  the 
gloom  of  night :  "  Undine  !  ah,  dear  Undine  !  I  beseech 
you,  pray  come  back,  —  only  this  once." 

It  turned  out,  however,  exactly  as  the  fisherman  had 
said.  No  Undine  could  they  hear  or  see  ;  and  as  the  old 
man  would  on  no  account  consent  that  Huldbrand  should 
go  in  quest  of  the  fugitive,  they  were  both  obliged  at  last 
to  return  into  the  cottage.  There  they  found  the  fire  on 
the  hearth  almost  gone  out,  and  the  mistress  of  the  house, 
who  took  Undine's  flight  and  danger  far  less  to  heart  than 
her  husband,  had  already  gone  to  rest.  The  old  man 
blew  up  the  coals,  put  on  kindling  stuff  and  billets  of  wood, 
and  by  means  of  the  renewed  flame  hunted  for  a  jug  of 
wine,  which  he  brought  and  set  between  himself  and  his 
guest. 

"  You,  Sir  knight,  as  well  as  myself,"  said  he,  "  are 
anxious  on  the  silly  girl's  account,  and  it  would  be  better, 
I  think,  to  spend  part  of  the  night  in  chatting  and  drinking, 
than  keep  turning  and  turning  on  our  rush-mats,  and  trying 
in  vain  to  sleep.     What  is  your  opinion  ?  " 

Huldbrand  was  well  pleased  with  the  plan  ;  the  fisherman 
pressed  him  to  take  the  vacant  seat  of  honor,  its  worthy 
occupant  having  now  left  it  for  her  couch  ;  and  they  relished 
their  beverage  and  enjoyed  their  chat,  as  two  such  good 
men  and  true  ever  ought  to  do.  To  be  sure,  whenever 
the  slightest  thing  moved  before  the  windows,  or  at  times 
when  just  nothing  at  all  was  moving,  one  of  them  would 
look  up  and  exclaim,  "  There  she  comes!  " — Then  would 
they  continue  silent  a  few  moments,  and  afterward,  when 
nothing  appeared,  would  shake  their  heads,  breathe  out  a 
sigh,  and  go  on  with  their  talk. 

But  since  they  were  both  so  pre-occupied  in  their  minds, 
as  to  find  it  next  to  impossible  to  dwell  upon  any  subject 
separate  from  Undine,  the  best  plan  they  could  devise  was, 
that  the  old  fisherman  should  relate,  and  the  knight  should 


22 

hear,  in  what  manner  Undine  had  come  to  the  cottage. 
So  the  fisherman,  giving  an  account  of  the  circumstances, 
began  as  follows  : 

"  It  is  now  about  fifteen  years,  since  I  one  day  crossed 
the  wild  forest  with  fish  for  the  city  market.  My  wife  had 
remained  at  home,  as  she  was  wont  to  do :  and  at  this  time 
for  a  reason  of  more  than  common  interest ;  for  although 
we  were  beginning  to  feel  the  advances  of  age,  God  had 
bestowed  upon  us  an  infant  of  wonderful  beauty.  It  was 
a  little  girl,  and  we  already  began  to  ask  ourselves  the 
question,  whether  we  ought  not,  for  the  advantage  of  the 
new-comer,  to  quit  our  solitude,  and,  the  better  to  bring  up 
this  precious  gift  of  Heaven,  to  remove  to  some  more 
inhabited  place.  Poor  people,  to  be  sure,  cannot  in  these 
cases  do  all  you  may  think  they  ought,  Sir  knight ;  but 
still,  gracious  God  !  every  one  must  do  as  much  for  his 
children  as  he  possibly  can. 

"  Well,  I  went  on  my  way,  and  this  affair  would  keep 
running  in  my  head :  it  put  my  mind  into  a  perfect  whirl. 
This  tongue  of  land  was  most  dear  to  me,  and  I  shrunk 
from  the  thought  of  leaving  it,  when,  amidst  the  bustle 
and  brawls  of  the  city,  I  was  obliged  to  reflect  in  this  man- 
ner by  myself:  '  In  a  scene  of  tumult  like  this,  or  at  least 
in  one  not  much  more  quiet,  I  too  must  soon  take  up  my 
abode.'  But  in  spite  of  these  feelings,  I  was  far  from  mur- 
muring against  the  kind  providence  of  God  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, when  I  received  this  new  blessing,  my  heart  breathed 
a  prayer  of  thankfulness  too  deep  for  words  to  express.  I 
should  also  speak  an  untruth,  were  I  to  say,  that  any  thing 
befell  me,  either  on  my  passage  through  the  forest  to  the 
city,  or  on  my  returning  homeward,  that  gave  me  more 
alarm  than  usual,  as  at  that  time  I  had  never  seen  any 
appearance  there,  which  could  terrify  or  annoy  me.  In 
those  awful  shades  the  Lord  was  ever  with  me,  and  I  felt 
his  presence  as  my  best  security." 

Thus  speaking,  he  took  his  cap  reverently  from  his  bald 
crown,  and  continued  to  sit,  for  a  considerable  time,  in  a 
state  of  devout  thoughtfulness.  He  then  covered  himself 
again,  and  went  on  with  his  relation  : 

"  On  this  side  the  forest,  alas  !  it  was  on  this  side,  that 
woe  burst  upon  me.     My  wife  came  wildly  to  meet  me, 


23 

clad  in  mourning  apparel,  and  her  eyes  streaming  with 
tears.  '  Gracious  God  !  '  I  cried  with  a  groan  ;  <  where's 
our  child  ?     Speak  ! ' 

"  <  With  the  Being  on  whom  you  have  called,  dear  hus- 
band,' she  answered;  and  wTe  now  entered  the  cottage 
together,  weeping  in  silence.  I  looked  for  the  little  corse, 
almost  fearing  to  find  wThat  I  wTas  seeking  ;  and  then  it  was 
I  first  learnt  how  all  had  happened. 

"  My  wife  had  taken  the  little  one  in  her  arms,  and 
w7alked  out  to  the  shore  of  the  lake.  She  there  sat  clown 
by  its  very  brink ;  and  while  she  was  playing  with  the 
infant,  as  free  from  all  fear  as  she  was  full  of  delight,  it 
bent  forward  on  a  sudden,  seeing  something  in  the  water, 
a  perfect  fairy  wonder  of  beauty.  My  wife  saw  her  laugh, 
the  dear  angel,  and  try  to  catch  the  image  in  her  little 
hands;  but  in  a  moment, — with  a  motion  swifter  than 
sight,  —  she  sprung  from  her  mother's  arms,  and  sunk  in 
the  lake,  the  watery  glass  into  which  she  had  been  gazing. 
I  searched  for  our  lost  darling  again  and  again  ;  but  it  was 
all  in  vain ;  I  could  nowThere  find  the  least  trace  of  her. 

"Well,  our  little  one  was  gone.  We  were  again  child- 
less parents,  and  were  now,  on  the  same  evening,  sitting 
together  by  our  cottage  hearth.  We  had  no  desire  to 
talk,  even  would  our  tears  have  permitted  us.  As  we  thus 
sat  in  mournful  stillness,  gazing  into  the  fire,  all  at  once  we 
heard  something  without,  —  a  slight  rustling  at  the  door. 
The  door  flew  open,  and  we  saw  a  little  girl,  three  or  four 
years  old,  and  more  beautiful  than  I  am  able  to  tell  you, 
standing  on  the  threshold,  richly  dressed  and  smiling  upon 
us.  Wre  were  struck  dumb  with  astonishment,  and  I  knew 
not  for  a  time,  whether  the  tiny  form  were  a  real  human 
being,  or  a  mere  mockery  of  enchantment.  But  I  soon 
perceived  wrater  dripping  from  her  golden  hair  and  rich 
garments,  and  that  the  pretty  child  had  been  lying  in  the 
water,  and  stood  in  immediate  need  of  our  help. 

"  <  Wife,'  said  I,  '  no  one  has  been  able  to  save  our 
child  for  us ;  still  we  doubtless  ought  to  do  for  others,  what 
would  make  ourselves  the  happiest  parents  on  earth,  could 
any  one  do  us  the  same  kindness.' 

"  We  undressed  the  little  thing,  put  her  to  bed,  and 
gave  her  something  warming  to  drink  :  at  all  this  she  spoke 


24 

not  a  word,  but  only  turned  her  eyes  upon  us,  eyes  blue 
and  bright  as  sea  or  sky,  and  continued  looking  at  us  with 
a  smile. 

"  Next  morning,  we  had  no  reason  to  fear,  that  she  had 
received  any  other  harm  than  her  wetting,  and  I  now 
asked  her  about  her  parents,  and  how  she  could  have  come 
to  us.  But  the  account  she  gave,  was  both  confused  and 
incredible.  She  must  surely  have  been  born  far  from 
here,  not  only  because  I  have  been  unable,  for  these  fifteen 
years,  to  learn  any  thing  of  her  birth,  but  because  she 
then  spoke,  and  at  times  continues  to  speak,  many  things 
of  so  very  singular  a  nature,  that  we  neither  of  us  know, 
after  all,  whether  she  may  not  have  dropped  among  us 
from  the  moon.  Then  her  talk  runs  upon  golden  castles, 
crystal  domes,  and  Heaven  knows  what  extravagances 
beside.  What  of  her  story,  however,  she  related  wTith 
most  distinctness,  and  what  appeared  to  have  in  it  some 
shadow  of  likelihood,  was  this,  that  while  she  was  once 
taking  a  sail  with  her  mother  on  the  great  lake,  she  fell 
out  of  the  boat  into  the  water  ;  and  that  when  she  first 
recovered  her  senses,  she  wTas  here  under  our  trees,  where 
the  gay  scenes  of  the  shore  filled  her  with  delight. 

"  We  now  had  another  care  weighing  upon  our  minds, 
and  one  that  caused  us  no  small  perplexity  and  uneasiness. 
We  of  course  very  soon  determined  to  keep  and  bring  up 
the  child  we  had  found,  in  place  of  our  own  darling  that 
had  been  drowned  ;  but  who  could  tell  us  whether  she 
had  been  baptized  or  not?  She  herself  could  give  us  no 
light  on  the  subject.  When  wre  asked  her  the  question, 
she  commonly  made  answer,  that  she  well  knew  she  was 
created  for  God's  praise  and  glory ;  and  that  as  to  what 
might  promote  the  praise  and  glory  of  God,  she  was 
willing  to  let  us  determine. 

"  My  wife  and  I  reasoned  in  this  way  :  '  If  she  has 
not  been  baptized,  there  can  be  no  use  in  putting  off  the 
ceremony ;  and  if  she  has  been,  it  is  more  dangerous,  in 
regard  to  the  duties  of  religion,  to  do  too  little  than  too 
much.' 

"  Taking  this  view  of  our  difficulty,  we  now  endeavoured 
to  hit  upon  a  good  name  for  the  child,  since  while  she 
remained  without  one,  we   were   often   at  a  loss,  in  our 


25 

familiar  talk,  to  know  what  to  call  her.  We  at  length 
concluded,  that  Dorothea  would  be  most  suitable  for  her, 
as  I  had  somewhere  heard  it  said,  that  this  name  signified 
a  Gift  of  God;  and  surely  she  had  been  sent  to  us  by 
Providence  as  a  gift,  to  comfort  us  in  our  misery.  She, 
on  the  contrary,  would  not  so  much  as  hear  Dorothea 
mentioned :  she  insisted,  that  as  she  had  been  named 
Undine  by  her  parents,  Undine  she  ought  still  to  be 
called. 

"  It  now  occurred  to  me,  that  this  was  a  heathenish 
name,  to  be  found  in  no  calendar,  and  I  resolved  to  ask 
the  advice  of  a  priest  in  the  city.  He  too  would  hear 
nothing  of  the  name,  Undine,  even  for  a  moment ;  and 
yielding  to  my  urgent  request,  he  came  with  me  through 
the  enchanted  forest,  in  order  to  perform  the  rite  of  bap- 
tism here  in  my  cottage. 

"  The  little  maid  stood  before  us  so  smart  in  her  finery, 
and  with  so  winning  an  air  of  gracefulness,  that  the  heart 
of  the  priest  softened  at  once  in  her  presence  ;  and  she 
had  a  way  of  coaxing  him  so  adroitly,  and  even  of  braving 
him  at  times  with  so  merry  a  queerness,  that  he  at  last 
remembered  nothing  of  his  many  objections  to  the  name  of 
Undine. 

"  Thus  then  was  she  baptized  Undine  ;  and  during  the 
holy  ceremony,  she  behaved  with  great  propriety  and  gen- 
tleness, wild  and  wayward  as  at  other  times  she  invariably 
was.  For  in  this  my  wife  was  quite  correct,  when  she 
mentioned  the  care,  anxiety,  and  vexation  the  child  has 
occasioned  us.     If  I  should  relate  to  you" 

At  this  moment  the  knight  interrupted  the  fisherman, 
with  a  view  to  direct  his  attention  to  a  deep  sound,  as  of 
a  rushing  flood,  which  had  caught  his  ear,  within  a  few 
minutes,  between  the  words  of  the  old  man.  And  now 
the  waters  came  pouring  on  with  redoubled  fury  before  the 
cottage  windows.  Both  sprang  to  the  door.  There  they 
saw,  by  the  light  of  the  now  risen  moon,  the  brook  which 
issued  from  the  wood,  rushing  wildly  over  its  banks,  and 
whirling  onward  with  it  both  stones  and  branches  of  trees 
in  its  rapid  course.  The  storm,  as  if  awakened  by  the 
uproar,  burst  forth  from  the  clouds,  whose  immense  masses 
of  vapour  coursed  over  the  moon  with  the  swiftness  of 
3 


26 

thought;  the  lake  roared  beneath  the  wind,  that  swept 
the  foam  from  its  waves ;  while  the  trees  of  this  narrow 
peninsula  groaned  from  root  to  top-most  branch,  as  they 
bowed  and  swung  above  the  torrent. 

"  Undine  !  in  God's  name,  Undine  !  "  cried  the  two 
men  in  an  agony.  No  answer  was  returned  ;  and  now, 
regardless  of  every  thing  else,  they  hurried  from  the  cot- 
tage, one  in  this  direction,  the  other  in  that,  searching  and 
calling. 


CHAPTER   III 


HOW  THEY  FOUND  UNDINE  AGAIN. 


The  longer  Huldbrand  sought  Undine  beneath  the 
shades  of  night,  and  failed  to  find  her,  the  more  anxious 
and  confused  he  became.  The  impression  that  she  was  a 
mere  phantom  of  the  forest,  gained  a  new  ascendancy  over 
him  ;  —  indeed,  amid  the  howling  of  the  waves  and  the  tem- 
pest, the  crashing  of  the  trees,  and  so  entire  a  transforma- 
tion of  the  scene,  that  it  discovered  no  resemblance  to  its 
former  calm  beauty,  he  was  tempted  to  view  the  whole 
peninsula,  together  with  the  cottage  and  its  inhabitants,  as 
little  more  than  some  mockery  of  his  senses ;  but  still  he 
heard,  afar  off,  the  fisherman's  anxious  and  incessant  shout- 
ing, "  Undine  !  Undine  !  "  and  also  his  aged  wife,  who, 
with  a  loud  voice  and  a  strong  feeling  of  awe,  was  praying 
and  chanting  hymns  amid  the  commotion. 

At  length,  when  he  drew  near  to  the  brook  which  had 
overflowed  its  banks,  he  perceived  by  the  moonlight,  that 
it  had  taken  its  wild  course  directly  in  front  of  the  haunted 
forest,  so  as  to  change  the  peninsula  into  anisland. 

"  Merciful  God  !  "  he  breathed  to  himself,  "  if  Undine 
has  ventured  one  step  within  that  fearful  wood,  what  will 
become  of  her  ?  —  perhaps  it  was  all  owing  to  her  sportive 
and  wayward  spirit,  because  I  could  give  her  no  account 
of  my  adventures  there ;  and  now  the  stream  is  rolling  be- 
tween us,  she  may  be  wTeeping  alone  on  the  other  side  in 
the  midst  of  spectral  horrors  !  " 

A  shuddering  groan  escaped  him,  and  clambering  over 
some  stones  and  trunks  of  overthrown  pines,   in  order  to 


28 

step  into  the  impetuous  current,  he  resolved,  either  by  wad- 
ing or  swimming,  to  seek  the  wanderer  on  the  further  shore. 
He  felt,  it  is  true,  all  the  dread  and  shrinking  awe  creeping 
over  him,  which  he  had  already  suffered  by  daylight  among 
the  now  tossing  and  roaring  branches  of  the  forest.  More 
than  all,  a  tall  man  in  white,  whom  he  knew  but  too  well, 
met  his  view,  as  he  stood  grinning  and  nodding  on  the  grass 
beyond  the  water  ;  but  even  monstrous  forms,  like  this,  only 
impelled  him  to  cross  over  toward  them,  when  the  thought 
rushed  upon  him,  that  Undine  might  be  there  alone,  and  in 
the  agony  of  death. 

He  had  already  grasped  a  stout  branch  of  a  pine,  and 
stood  supporting  himself  upon  it  in  the  whirling  current, 
against  which  he  could  with  difficulty  keep  himself  erect ; 
but  he  advanced  deeper  in,  with  a  courageous  spirit.  That 
instant,  a  gentle  voice  of  warning  cried  near  him  :  "  Do  not 
venture,  do  not  venture !  that  old  man,  the  stream,  is  too 
tricksy  to  be  trusted  !  " — He  knew  the  soft  tones  of  the 
voice  ;  and  while  he  stood  as  it  were  entranced,  beneath 
the  shadows  which  now  duskily  veiled  the  moon,  his  head 
swum  with  the  swell  and  rolling  of  the  waves,  as  he  every 
moment  saw  them  foaming  and  dashing  above  his  knee. 
Still  he   disdained  the  thought  of  giving  up  his  purpose. 

"  If  you  are  not  really  there,  if  you  are  merely  gambol- 
ing round  me  like  a  mist,  may  I  too  bid  farewell  to  life,  and 
become  a  shadow  like  you,  dear,  dear  Undine !  "  Thus 
calling  aloud,  he  again  moved  deeper  into  the  stream. 
"  Look  round  you,  ah  pray  look  round  you,  beautiful  young 
stranger!  why  rush  on  death  so  madly !  "  cried  the  voice  a 
second  time  close  by  him ;  and  looking  side-ways,  as  the 
moon  by  glimpses  unveiled  its  light,  he  perceived  a  little 
island  formed  by  the  flood,  and,  reclined  upon  its  flowery 
turf,  beneath  the  high  branches  of  embowering  trees,  he 
saw  the  smiling  and  lovely  Undine. 

O  with  what  a  thrill  of  delight,  compared  with  the  sus- 
pense and  pause  of  a  moment  before,  the  young  man  now 
plied  his  sturdy  staff!  A  few  steps  freed  him  from  the 
flood,  that  was  rushing  between  himself  and  the  maiden, 
and  he  stood  near  her  on  the  little  spot  of  green-sward,  in 
secret  security,  covered  by  the  primeval  trees  that  rustled 
above  them.     Undine  had  partially  risen,  within  her  tent  of 


29 

verdure,  and  she  now  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
so  that  she  gently  drew  him  down  upon  the  soft  seat  by  her 
side. 

"  Here  you  shall  tell  me  your  story,  my  handsome  friend," 
she  breathed  in  a  low  whisper ;  "  here  the  cross  old  people 
cannot  disturb  us.  And,  besides,  our  roof  of  leaves  here 
will  make  quite  as  good  a  shelter,  it  may  be,  as  their  poor 
cottage." 

"  It  is  heaven  itself,"  cried  Huldbrand  ;  and  folding  her 
in  his  arms,  he  kissed  the  lovely  and  affectionate  girl  with 
fervour. 

The  old  fisherman,  meantime,  had  come  to  the  margin 
of  the  stream,  and  he  shouted  across  to  the  young  lovers : 
«  Why  how  is  this,  Sir  knight !  I  received  you  with  the 
welcome,  which  one  true-hearted  man  gives  to  another,  and 
now  you  sit  there  caressing  my  foster-child  in  secret,  while 
you  suffer  me  in  my  anxiety  to  go  roaming  through  the 
night  in  quest  of  her." 

"  Not  till  this  moment  did  I  find  her  myself,  old  father," 
cried  the  knight  across  the  water. 

" So  much  the  better,"  said  the  fisherman;  "but  now 
make  haste,  and  bring  her  over  to  me  upon  firm  ground." 

To  this,  however,  Undine  would  by  no  means  consent. 
She  declared,  that  she  would  rather  enter  the  wild  forest 
itself  with  the  beautiful  stranger,  than  return  to  the  cottage, 
where  she  was  so  thwarted  in  her  wishes,  and  from  which 
the  handsome  knight  would  soon  or  late  go  away.  Then 
closely  embracing  Huldbrand,  she  sung  the  following  verse 
with  the  warbling  sweetness  of  a  bird  : 

"  A  Rill  would  leave  its  misty  vale, 
And  fortunes  wild  explore  ; 
Weary  at  length  it  reached  the  main, 
And  sought  its  vale  no  more." 

The  old  fisherman  wept  bitterly  at  her  song,  but  his  emo- 
tion seemed  to  awaken  little  or  no  sympathy  in  her.  She 
kissed  and  caressed  her  new  friend,  whom  she  called  her 
darling,  and  who  at  last  said  to  her  :  "  Undine,  if  the  dis- 
tress of  the  old  man  does  not  touch  your  heart,  it  cannot 
but  move  mine.     We  ought  to  return  to  him." 

She  opened  her  large  blue  eyes  upon  him  in  perfect 
amazement,  and  finally  spoke  with  a  slow  and  lingering  ac- 
3* 


30 

cent:  "If  you  think  so,  —  it  is  well;  all  is  right  to  me,  which 
you  think  right.  But  the  old  man  over  there  must  first 
give  me  his  promise,  that  he  will  allow  you,  without  objec- 
tion, to  relate  what  you  saw  in   the  wood,    and well, 

other  things  will  settle  themselves." 

"  Come,  do  only  come  ! "  cried  the  fisherman  to  her, 
unable  to  utter  another  word.  At  the  same  time,  he 
stretched  his  arms  wide  over  the  current  toward  her,  and, 
to  give  her  assurance  that  he  would  do  what  she  required, 
nodded  his  head ;  this  motion  caused  his  white  hair  to  fall 
strangely  over  his  face,  and  Huldbrand  could  not  but  re- 
member the  nodding  white  man  of  the  forest.  Without 
allowing  anything,  however,  to  produce  in  him  the  least 
confusion,  the  young  knight  took  the  beautiful  girl  in  his 
arms,  and  bore  her  across  the  narrow  channel,  which  the 
stream  had  torn  awray  between  her  little  island  and  the 
solid  shore.  The  old  man  fell  upon  Undine's  neck,  and 
found  it  impossible  either  to  express  his  joy,  or  to  kiss  her 
enough  ;  even  the  ancient  dame  came  up,  and  embraced  the 
recovered  girl  most  cordially.  Every  word  of  censure 
was  carefully  avoided  ;  the  more  so  indeed,  as  even  Un- 
dine, forgetting  her  waywardness,  almost  overwhelmed 
her  foster-parents  with  caresses  and  the  prattle  of  ten- 
derness. 

When  at  length,  after  they  were  able  to  realize  the  joy 
of  recovering  their  child,  they  seemed  to  have  come  to 
themselves,  morning  had  already  dawned,  opening  to  view 
and  brightening  the  waters  of  the  lake.  The  tempest  had 
become  hushed,  and  small  birds  sung  merrily  on  the  moist 
branches. 

As  Undine  now  insisted  upon  hearing  the  recital  of 
the  knight's  promised  adventures,  the  aged  couple,  smiling 
with  good-humour,  consented  to  gratify  her  wish.  Breakfast 
was  brought  out  beneath  the  trees,  which  stood  behind  the 
cottage  toward  the  lake  on  the  north,  and  they  sat  down 
to  it  with  delighted  hearts, — Undine  lower  than  the  rest 
(since  she  would  by  no  means  allow  it  to  be  otherwise)  at 
the  knight's  feet  on  the  grass.  These  arrangements  being 
made,  Huldbrand  began  his  story  in  the  following  manner. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


OF  WHAT  HAD  HAPPENED  TO  THE  KNIGHT  IN  THE  FOREST. 


"  It  is  now  about  eight  days,  since  I  rode  into  the  free 
imperial  city,  which  lies  yonder  on  the  further  side  of  the 
forest.  Soon  after  my  arrival,  a  splendid  tournament  and 
running  at  the  ring  took  place  there,  and  I  spared  neither 
my  horse  nor  my  lance  in  the  encounters. 

"  Once,  while  I  was  pausing  at  the  lists,  to  rest  from 
the  brisk  exercise,  and  was  handing  back  my  helmet  to 
one  of  my  attendants,  a  female  figure  of  extraordinary 
beauty  caught  my  attention,  as,  most  magnificently  attired, 
she  stood  looking  on  at  one  of  the  balconies.  I  learnt,  on 
making  inquiry  of  a  person  near  me,  that  the  name  of  the 
gay  young  lady  was  Bertalda,  and  that  she  was  a  foster- 
daughter  of  one  of  the  powerful  dukes  of  this  country. 
She  too,  I  observed,  was  gazing  at  me,  and  the  consequen- 
ces were  such,  as  we  young  knights  are  wont  to  experience  : 
whatever  success  in  riding  I  might  have  had  before,  I  was 
now  favoured  with  still  better  fortune.  That  evening  I  was 
Bertalda's  partner  in  the  dance,  and  I  enjoyed  the  same 
distinction  during  the  remainder  of  the  festival." 

A  twinge  of  pain  in  his  left  hand,  as  it  hung  carelessly 
beside  him,  here  interrupted  Huldbrand's  relation,  and 
drew  his  eye  to  the  part  affected.  Undine  had  fastened 
her  pearly  teeth,  and  not  without  some  keenness  too,  upon 
one  of  his  fingers,  appearing  at  the  same  time  very  gloomy 
and  displeased.  On  a  sudden,  however,  she  looked  up  in 
his  eyes  with  an  expression  of  tender  melancholy,  and 
whispered  almost  inaudibly : 


32 

"  You  blame  me  for  being  rude,  but  you  are  yourself 
the  cause." 

She  then  covered  her  face,  and  the  knight,  strangely 
embarrassed  and  thoughtful,  went  on  with  his  story : 

"  This  lady  Bertalda  of  whom  I  spoke,  is  of  a  proud 
and  wayward  spirit.  The  second  day  I  saw  her,  she 
pleased  me  by  no  means  so  much  as  she  had  the  first,  and 
the  third  day  still  less.  But  I  continued  about  her,  because 
she  showed  me  more  favour  than  she  did  any  other  knio-ht ; 
and  the  result  of  my  indiscretion  was,  that  I  playfully 
asked  her  to  give  me  one  of  her  gloves. 

"  f  When  you  have  entered  the  haunted  forest  all  alone,' 
said  she ;  '  when  you  have  explored  its  wonders,  and 
brought  me  a  full  account  of  them,  the  glove  is  yours.' 

"  As  to  getting  her  glove,  it  was  of  no  importance  to 
me  whatever,  but  the  word  had  been  spoken,  and  no 
honourable  knight  would  permit  himself  to  be  reminded  of 
such  a  proof  of  valour  a  second  time." 

"  I  thought,"  said  Undine,  interrupting  him,  "  that  she 
felt  an  affection  for  you." 

"  It  did  appear  so,"  replied  Huldbrand. 

"  Well ! "  exclaimed  the  maiden,  laughing,  "  this  is 
beyond  belief;  she  must  be  very  stupid  and  heartless.  To 
drive  from  her  one  who  was  dear  to  her  !  And,  worse 
than  all,  into  that  ill-omened  wood  !  The  wood  and  its 
mysteries,  for  all  I  should  have  cared,  might  have  wraited  a 
long  while." 

"  Yesterday  morning,  then,"  pursued  the  knight,  smiling 
brightly  upon  Undine,  "  I  set  out  from  the  city,  my  enter- 
prise before  me.  The  early  light  lay  rich  upon  the 
verdant  turf.  It  shone  so  rosy  on  the  slender  boles  of  the 
trees,  and  there  wTas  so  merry  a  whispering  among  the 
leaves,  that  in  my  heart  I  could  not  but  laugh  at  people, 
who  feared  meeting  any  thing  to  terrify  them  in  a  spot  so 
delicious.  <I  shall  soon  trot  through  the  forest,  and  as 
speedily  return,'  I  said  to  myself  in  the  overflow  of  joyous 
feeling  ;  and  ere  I  was  well  aware,  I  had  entered  deep 
among  the  green  shades,  while  of  the  plain  that  lay  behind 
me,  I  was  no  more  able  to  catch  a  glimpse. 

"Then  the  conviction  for  the  first  time  impressed  me, 
that  in  a  forest  of  so   great  extent  I   might  very   easily 


33 

become  bewildered,  and  that  this  perhaps  might  be  the 
only  danger,  which  was  likely  to  threaten  those  who 
explored  its  recesses.  So  I  made  a  halt,  and  turned  myself 
in  the  direction  of  the  sun,  which  had  meantime  risen 
somewhat  higher ;  and  while  I  was  looking  up  to  observe 
it,  I  saw  something  black  among  the  boughs  of  a  lofty  oak. 
My  first  thought  was,  — c  It  is  a  bear ! '  and  I  grasped  my 
weapon  of  defence ;  the  object  then  accosted  me  from 
above  in  a  human  voice,  but  in  a  tone  most  harsh  and 
hideous  :  '  If  I  overhead  here  do  not  gnaw  off  these  dry 
branches,  Sir  Wiseacre  Noodle,  what  shall  we  have  to  roast 
you  with,  wThen  midnight  comes  ? '  And  with  that  it 
grinned,  and  made  such  a  rattling  with  the  branches,  that 
my  courser  became  mad  with  affright,  and  rushed  furiously 
forward  with  me,  before  I  had  time  to  see  distinctly  what 
sort  of  a  devil's  beast  it  was." 

"  You  must  not  name  it,"  said  the  old  fisherman,  crossing 
himself;  his  wife  did  the  same  without  speaking  a  word ; 
and  Undine,  while  her  eye  sparkled  with  glee,  looked  at 
her  beloved  knight  and  said  :  "  The  best  of  the  story  is, 
however,  that  as  yet  they  have  not  actually  roasted  you. 
But  pray  make  haste,  my  handsome  young  friend.  Hong 
to  hear  more." 

The  knight  then  went  on  with  his  adventures  :  "  My 
horse  was  so  wild,  that  he  well-nigh  rushed  with  me 
against  limbs  and  trunks  of  trees.  He  was  dripping  with 
sweat,  through  terror,  heat,  and  the  violent  straining  of  his 
muscles.  Still  he  refused  to  slacken  his  career.  At  last, 
altogether  beyond  my  control,  he  took  his  course  directly 
up  a  stony  steep  ;  when  suddenly  a  tall  white  man  flashed 
before  me,  and  threw  himself  athwart  the  route  my  mad 
steed  was  taking.  At  this  apparition  he  shuddered  with 
new  affright,  and  stopt, trembling.  I  took  this  chance  of 
recovering  my  command  of  him,  and  now  for  the  first  time 
perceived,  that  my  deliverer,  so  far  from  being  a  white 
man,  was  only  a  brook  of  silver  brightness,  foaming  near 
me  in  its  descent  from  the  hill,  while  it  crossed  and 
arrested  my  horse's  course  with  its  rush  of  waters." 

"  Thanks,  thanks,  dear  Brook,"  cried  Undine,  clapping 
her  little  hands.  But  the  old  man  shook  his  head,  and, 
deeply  musing,  looked  vacantly  down  before  him. 


34 

"  Hardly  had  I  well  settled  myself  in  my  saddle,  and 
got  the  reins  in  my  grasp  again,"  Huldbrand  pursued, 
"  when  a  wizard-like  dwarf  of  a  man  was  already  standing 
at  my  side,  diminutive  and  ugly  beyond  conception,  his 
complexion  of  a  brownish  yellow,  and  his  nose  scarcely  of 
less  magnitude  than  all  the  rest  of  him.  The  fellow's 
mouth  was  slit  almost  from  ear  to  ear,  and  he  showed  his 
teeth  with  a  simpering  smile  of  idiot  courtesy,  while  he 
overwhelmed  me  with  bows  and  scrapes  innumerable. 
The  farce  now  becoming  excessively  irksome,  I  thanked 
him  in  the  fewest  words  I  could  well  use,  turned  about  my 
still  trembling  charger,  and  purposed  either  to  seek  another 
adventure,  or,  should  I  meet  with  none,  to  pick  my  way 
back  to  the  city  ;  for  the  sun,  during  my  wild  chase,  had 
passed  the  meridian,  and  was  now  hastening  toward  the 
west.  But  this  villain  of  a  manikin  sprung  at  the  same 
instant,  and,  with  a  turn  as  rapid  as  lightning,  stood  before 
my  horse  again.  '  Clear  the  way  there  ! '  I  fiercely 
shouted ;  '  the  beast  is  wild,  and  will  make  nothing  of 
running  over  you.' 

"  'He  will,  will  he  !'  cried  the  imp  with  a  snarl,  and 
snorting  out  a  laugh  still  more  frightfully  idiotic  ;  '  pay  me, 
first  pay  what  you  owe  me,  —  I  stopt  your  fine  little  nag 
for  you  ;  without  my  help,  both  you  and  he  would  be  now 
sprawling  below  there  in  that  stony  ravine  :  Hu  !  from 
what  a  horrible  plunge  I've  saved  you.' 

"  <  Well,  pray  don't  stretch  your  mouth  any  wider,'  said 
I,  'but  take  your  drink-money  and  off,  though  every  word 
you  say  is  false.  See,  it  was  the  kind  brook  there,  you 
miserable  thing,  and  not  you,  that  saved  me.'  And  at  the 
same  time  I  dropt  a  piece  of  gold  into  his  wizard  cap, 
which  he  had  taken  from  his  head  while  he  was  begging 
before  me. 

"  I  then  trotted  off,  and  left  him  ;  but,  to  make  bad 
worse,  he  screamed  after  me,  and  on  a  sudden,  with 
inconceivable  quickness,  he  was  close  by  my  side.  I 
started  my  horse  into  a  gallop  ;  he  galloped  on  with  me, 
impossible  for  him  as  it  appeared  ;  and  with  this  strange 
movement,  half  ludicrous  and  half  horrible,  forcing  at  the 
same  time  every  limb  and  feature  into  distortion,  he  kept 
raising  the  gold  piece  as  high  as  he  could  stretch  his  arm, 


35 

and  screaming  at  every  leap :  <  Counterfeit !  false  !  false 
coin  !  counterfeit ! '  and  such  were  the  croaking  sounds 
that  issued  from  his  hollow  breast,  you  would  have  sup- 
posed, that,  every  time  he  made  them,  he  must  have 
tumbled  upon  the  ground  dead.  All  this  while,  his  disgust- 
ful red  tongue  hung  lolling  far  out  of  his  mouth. 

"  Discomposed  at  the  sight,  I  stopt  and  asked  him  : 
'What  do  you  mean  by  your  screaming?  Take  another 
piece  of  gold,  take  two  more,  —  but  leave  me.' 

"  He  then  began  to  make  his  hideous  salutations  of 
courtesy  again,  and  snarled  out  as  before  :  '  Not  gold,  it 
shall  not  be  gold,  my  smart  young  gentleman  ;  I  have  too 
much  of  that  trash  already,  as  I  will  show  you  in  no-time.' 

"At  that  moment,  and  thought  itself  could  not  have 
been  more  instantaneous,  I  seemed  to  have  acquired  new 
powers  of  sight.  I  could  see  through  the  solid  green 
plain,  as  if  it  were  green  glass,  and  the  smooth  surface  of 
the  earth  were  round  as  a  globe  ;  and  within  it  I  saw 
crowds  of  goblins,  who  were  pursuing  their  pastime,  and 
making  themselves  merry  with  silver  and  gold.  They 
were  tumbling  and  rolling  about,  heads  up  and  heads  down  ; 
they  pelted  one  another  in  sport  with  the  precious  metals, 
and  with  irritating  malice  blew  gold  dust  in  one  another's 
eyes.  My  odious  companion  stood  half  within  and  half 
without;  he  ordered  the  others  to  reach  him  up  a  vast 
quantity  of  gold  ;»this  he  showed  to  me  with  a  laugh,  and 
then  flung  it  again  ringing  and  chinking  down  the  meas- 
ureless abyss. 

"After  this  contemptuous  disregard  of  gold,  he  held  up 
the  piece  I  had  given  him,  showing  it  to  his  brother  gnomes 
below,  and  they  laughed  themselves  half  dead  at  a  bit  so 
worthless,  and  hissed  me.  At  last,  raising  their  fingers  all 
smutched  with  ore,  they  pointed  them  at  me  in  scorn,  and 
wilder  and  wilder,  and  thicker  and  thicker,  and  madder 
and  madder,  the  crowd  were  clambering  up  to  where  I  sat 
gazing  at  these  wonders.  Then  terror  seized  me,  as  it 
had  before  seized  my  horse.  I  gave  him  both  spurs  to 
the  quick ;  and  how  far  he  rushed  headlong  with  me 
through  the  forest,  during  this  second  of  my  wild  heats,  it 
is  impossible  to  say. 

"  At  last,  wThen  I  had  now  come  to  a  dead   halt   again, 


36 

the  cool  of  evening  was  around  me.  I  caught  the  gleam 
of  a  white  foot-path  through  the  branches  of  the  trees  ; 
and  presuming  it  would  lead  me  out  of  the  forest  toward 
the  city,  I  was  desirous  of  working  my  way  into  it ;  but  a 
face  perfectly  white  and  indistinct,  with  features  forever 
changing,  kept  thrusting  itself  out  and  peering  at  me 
between  the  leaves.  I  tried  to  avoid  it ;  but  wherever  I 
went,  there  too  appeared  the  unearthly  face.  I  was 
maddened  with  rage  at  this  interruption,  and  drove  my 
steed  at  the  appearance  full-tilt ;  when  such  a  cloud  of 
white  foam  came  rushing  upon  me  and  my  horse,  that  we 
were  almost  blinded  and  glad  to  turn  about  and  escape. 
Thus  from  step  to  step  it  forced  us  on,  and  ever  aside  from 
the  foot-path,  leaving  us,  for  the  most  part,  only  one 
direction  open.  But  when  we  advanced  in  this,  although 
it  kept  following  close  behind  us,  it  did  not  occasion  the 
smallest  harm  or  inconvenience. 

"  At  times,  when  I  looked  about  me  at  the  form,  I 
perceived  that  the  white  face,  which  had  splashed  upon 
us  its  shower  of  foam,  was  resting  on  a  body  equally  white 
and  of  more  than  gigantic  size.  Many  a  time  too,  I 
received  the  impression,  that  the  whole  appearance  was 
nothing  more  than  a  wandering  stream  or  torrent,  but 
respecting  this  I  could  never  attain  to  any  certainty.  We 
both  of  us,  horse  and  rider,  became  weary,  as  we  shaped 
our  course  according  to  the  movements  ef  the  white  man, 
who  continued  nodding  his  head  at  us,  as  if  he  would  say : 
*  Perfectly  right !  perfectly  right  ! '  —  And  thus,  at  length, 
we  came  out  here  at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  where  I  saw 
the  fresh  turf,  the  waters  of  the  lake,  and  your  little  cottage, 
and  where  the  tall  white  man  disappeared." 

"  Well,  Heaven  be  praised  that  he  is  gone !  "  cried  the 
old  fisherman  ;  and  he  now  fell  to  considering  how  his  guest 
could  most  conveniently  return  to  his  friends  in  the  city. 
Upon  this,  Undine  began  tittering  to  herself,  but  so  very  low 
that  the  sound  was  hardly  perceivable.  Huldbrand, 
observing  it,  said :  "  I  had  hoped  you  would  see  me 
remain  here  with  pleasure  ;  why  then  do  you  now  appear  so 
happy,  when  our  talk  turns  upon  my  going  away  ? " 

"  Because  you  cannot  go  away,"  answered  Undine. 
«  Pray  make   a  single  attempt ;   try  with  a  wherry,  with 


37 

your  horse,  or  alone,  as  you  please,  to  cross  that  forest- 
stream  which  has  burst  its  bounds.  Or  rather,  make  no  trial 
at  all,  for  you  would  be  dashed  to  pieces  by  the  stones  and 
trunks  of  trees,  which  you  see  driven  on  with  such  violence. 
And  as  to  the  lake,  I  am  well  acquainted  with  that ;  even 
my  father  dares  not  venture  out  with  his  wherry  far  enough 
to  help  you." 

Huldbrand  rose,  smiling,  in  order  to  look  about,  and 
observe  whether  the  state  of  things  were  such,  as  Undine 
had  represented  it  to  be  ;  the  old  man  accompanied  him, 
and  the  maiden,  in  mockery,  went  gamboling  and  playing 
her  antics  beside  them.  They  found  all  in  fact,  just  as 
Undine  had  said,  and  that  the  knight,  whether  willing  or 
not  willing,  must  submit  to  remain  on  the  island,  so  lately  a 
peninsula,  until  the  flood  should  subside. 

When  the  three  were  now  returning  to  the  cottage,  after 
their  ramble,  the  knight  whispered  the  little  girl  in  her 
ear  :  "  Well,  dear  Undine,  hov:  is  it  with  you  ?  Are  you 
angry  on  account  of  my  remaining?  " 

"Ah,"  she  pettishly  made  answer,  "not  a  word  ofthat. 
If  I  had  not  bitten  you,  who  knows  what  fine  things  you 
would  have  put  into  your  story  about  Bertalda  !  " 


CHAPTER    V. 


HOW  THE  KNIGHT  LIVED  ON  THE  POINT  OF  LAND,  NOW 
ENCIRCLED  BT  THE  LAKE. 


At  some  period  of  your  life,  my  dear  reader,  afler  mani- 
fold triumphs  and  repulses  in  the  crusade  of  the  world,  you 
may  have  reached  a  situation  where  you  were  happy  ;  that 
love  for  the  calm  security  of  our  own  fireside,  which  we 
all  feel  as  an  affection  born  with  us,  again  rose  within  you  ; 
you  imagined  that  your  home  would  again  bloom  forth,  as 
from  a  cherished  grave,  with  all  the  flowers  of  childhood, 
the  purest  and  most  impassioned  love  ;  and  that,  in  such  a 
spot,  it  must  be  delightful  to  take  up  your  abode,  and 
build  your  tabernacle  for  life. 

Whether  you  were  mistaken  in  this  persuasion,  and 
afterward  made  a  severe  expiation  for  your  error  of  judg- 
ment, it  suits  not  my  purpose  to  inquire,  and  you  would  be 
unwilling  yourself,  it  may  be,  to  be  saddened  by  a  recol- 
lection so  ungrateful.  But  again  awake  within  you  that 
foretaste  of  bliss,  so  inexpressibly  sweet,  that  angelic  salu- 
tation of  peace,  and  you  will  be  able,  perchance,  to  real- 
ize something  of  the  knight  Huldbrand's  happiness,  the 
tender  visions  of  his  heart,  while  he  remained  on  the  point 
of  land,  now  surrounded  by  the  lake. 

He  frequently  observed,  and  no  doubt  with  heartfelt  sat- 
isfaction, that  the  forest-stream  continued  everyday  to  swell 
and  roll  on  with  a  more  impetuous  sweep  ;  that,  by  tearing 
away  the  earth,  it  scooped  out  a  broader  and  broader  chan- 
nel ;  and  that  the  time  of  his  seclusion  on  the  island  be- 
came, in  consequence,  more  and  more  extended.     Part  of 


39 

the  clay  he  wandered  about  with  an  old  cross-bow,  which  he 
found  in  a  corner  of  the  cottage,  and  had  repaired,  in  order 
to  shoot  the  water-fowl  that  flew  over ;  and  all  that  he 
was  lucky  enough  to  hit,  he  brought  home  for  a  good  roast 
in  the  kitchen.  When  he  came  in  with  his  booty,  Undine 
seldom  failed  to  greet  him  with  a  scolding,  because  he  had 
cruelly  deprived  her  dear  merry  friends  of  life,  as  they 
were  sporting  above  in  the  blue  ocean  of  the  air ;  nay  more, 
she  often  wept  bitterly,  when  she  viewed  the  water-fowl 
dead  in  his  hand.  But  at  other  times,  when  he  returned 
without  having  shot  any,  she  gave  him  a  scolding  equally 
serious,  since,  owing  to  his  indolent  strolling  and  awkward 
handling  of  the  bow,  they  must  now  put  up  with  a  dinner 
of  pickerel  and  crawfish.  Her  playful  taunts  ever  touch- 
ed his  heart  with  delight ;  the  more  so,  as  she  afterward 
strove  to  make  up  for  her  pretended  ill-humour  with  that 
most  endearing  of  prattle,  of  which  lovers  alone  are  able 
to  understand  the  value. 

In  this  familiarity  of  the  young  people,  their  aged  friends 
saw  a  resemblance  to  the  feelings  of  their  own  youth  :  they 
appeared  to  look  upon  them  as  betrothed,  or  even  as  a 
young  married  pair,  that  lived  with  them  in  their  age,  to 
afford  them  assistance  on  their  island,  now  torn  off  from 
the  mainland.  His  retired  situation,  too,  strongly  im- 
pressed young  Huldbrand  with  the  feeling  that  he  was  al- 
ready Undine's  bridegroom.  It  seemed  to  him,  as  if,  be- 
yond those  encompassing  floods,  there  were  no  other  world 
in  existence,  or  at  any  rate  as  if  he  could  never  cross  them, 
and  again  associate  with  the  world  of  other  men  ;  and  when 
at  times  his  grazing  steed  raised  his  head  and  neighed  to 
him,  seemingly  inquiring  after  his  knightly  achievements 
and  reminding  him  of  them,  or  when  his  coat  of  arms 
sternly  shone  upon  him  from  the  embroidery  of  his  saddle, 
and  the  caparisons  of  his  horse,  or  when  his  sword  hap- 
pened to  fall  from  a  nail  on  which  it  was  hanging  in  the 
cottage,  and  flashed  on  his  eye  as  it  slipped  from  the  scab- 
bard in  its  fall,  —  he  quieted  the  dubious  suggestions  of  his 
mind,  by  saying  to  himself:  "Undine  cannot  be  a  fisher- 
man's daughter  ;  she  is,  in  all  probability,  a  native  of 
some  remote  region,  and  a  member  of  some  illustrious 
family." 


40 

There  was  one  thing,  indeed,  to  which  he  had  a  strong 
aversion  :  this  was  to  hear  the  old  dame  reprimanding  Un- 
dine. The  wild  girl,  it  is  true,  commonly  laughed  at  the 
reproof,  making  no  attempt  to  conceal  the  extravagance 
of  her  mirth  ;  but  it  appeared  to  him  like  touching  his  own 
honour ;  and  still  he  found  it  impossible  to  blame  the  aged 
wife  of  the  fisherman,  since  Undine  always  deserved  at 
least  ten  times  as  many  reprimands  as  she  received  :  so  he 
continued  to  feel  in  his  heart  an  affectionate  tenderness  for 
them  all,  even  for  the  ancient  mistress  of  the  house,  and 
his  whole  life  flowed  on  in  the  calm  stream  of  contentment. 

But  still  there  came  some  interruption  at  last.  The 
fisherman  and  the  knight  had  been  accustomed  at  dinner, 
and  also  in  the  evening,  when  the  wind  roared  without,  as 
it  rarely  failed  to  do  toward  night,  to  enjoy  together  a 
flask  of  wine.  But  now  their  whole  stock,  which  the 
fisherman  had  from  time  to  time  brought  with  him  from  the 
city,  was  at  last  exhausted,  and  they  were  both  quite  out  of 
humour  at  the  circumstance.  That  day  Undine  laughed  at 
them  excessively,  but  they  were  not  disposed  to  join  in 
her  pleasantries  with  the  same  gaiety  as  usual.  Toward 
evening  she  went  out  of  the  cottage,  to  escape,  as  she  said, 
the  sight  of  two  such. lengthened  and  tiresome  faces. 

While  it  was  yet  twilight,  some  appearances  of  a  tem- 
pest seemed  to  be  again  mustering  in  the  sky,  and  the 
waves  already  rushed  and  roared  around  them  :  the  knight 
and  the  fisherman  sprung  to  the  door  in  terror,  to  bring 
home  the  maiden,  remembering  the  anguish  of  that  night, 
when  Huldbrand  had  first  entered  the  cottage.  But  Un- 
dine met  them  at  the  same  moment,  clapping  her  little 
hands  in  high  glee. 

"  What  will  you  give  me,"  she  cried,  "  to  provide  you 
with  wine?  or  rather,  you  need  not  give  me  any  thing," 
she  continued  ;  "  for  I  am  already  satisfied,  if  you  look 
more  cheerful,  and  have  a  livelier  flow  of  spirits,  than 
throughout  this  last  most  wearisome  day.  Do  only  come 
with  me  one  minute  ;  the  forest-stream  has  driven  ashore 
a  cask ;  and  I  will  be  condemned  to  sleep  a  whole  week, 
if  it  is  not  a  wine-cask." 

The  men  followed  her,  and  actually  found,  in  a  bushy 
cove  of  the  shore,  a  cask,  which  inspired   them   with  as 


41 

much  joy,  as  if  they  were  sure  it  contained  the  generous 
old  wine,  for  which  they  were  thirsting.  They  first  of  all, 
and  with  as  much  expedition  as  possible,  rolled  it  toward 
the  cottage  ;  for  a  heavy  shower  was  again  rising  in  the 
west,  and  they  could  discern  the  waves  of  the  lake,  in  the 
fading  light,  lifting  their  white  foaming  heads,  as  if  looking 
out  for  the  rain,  which  threatened  every  instant  to  pour 
upon  them.  Undine  helped  them,  as  much  as  she  was 
able  ;  and  as  the  shower,  with  a  roar  of  wind,  came  suddenly 
sweeping  on  in  rapid  pursuit,  she  raised  her  finger  with  a 
merry  menace  toward  the  dark  mass  of  clouds,  and  cried  : 

"You  cloud,  you  cloud,  have  a  care!  —  beware  how 
you  wet  us ;  we  are  some  way  from  shelter  yet." 

The  old  man  reproved  her  for  this  sally,  as  a  sinful  pre- 
sumption ;  but  she  laughed  to  herself  with  a  low  tittering, 
and  no  one  suffered  any  evil  from  her  wild  behaviour. 
Nay  more,  what  was  beyond  their  expectation,  they  all 
three  reached  their  comfortable  hearth  unwet,  with  their 
prize  secured  ;  but  the  moment  the  cask  had  been  broached, 
and  proved  to  contain  wine  of  a  remarkably  fine  flavour, 
then  the  rain  first  poured  unrestrained  from  the  black  cloud, 
the  tempest  raved  through  the  tops  of  the  trees,  and  swept 
far  over  the  billows  of  the  deep. 

Having  immediately  filled  several  bottles  from  the  large 
cask,  which  promised  them  a  supply  for  a  long  time,  they 
drew  round  the  glowing  hearth  ;  and  comfortably  secured 
from  the  violence  of  the  storm,  they  sat  tasting  the  flavour 
of  their  wine,  and  bandying  their  quips  and  pleasantries. 

As  reflection  returned  upon  him,  the  old  fisherman 
all  at  once  became  very  grave,  and  said  :  "  Ah,  great  God  ! 
here  we  sit,  rejoicing  over  this  rich  gift,  while  he  to  whom 
it  first  belonged,  and  from  whom  it  was  wrested  by  the 
fury  of  the  stream,  must  there  also,  it  is  more  than  probable, 
have  lost  his  life." 

"  His  fate,  I  trust,  was  not  quite  so  melancholy  as  that," 
said  Undine,  while,  smiling,  she  filled  the  knight's  cup  to 
the  brim. 

But  he  exclaimed:  "By  my  unsullied  honour,  old 
father,  if  I  knew  where  to  find  and  rescue  him,  no  exposure 
to  the  night,  nor  any   thought   of  peril,  should   deter  me 

from  making  the   attempt.     But  I  give  you  all  the  assur- 

4# 


42 

ance  I  am  able  to  give,  that  provided  I  ever  reach  an 
inhabited  country  again,  I  will  find  out  the  owner  of 
this  wine  or  his  heirs,  and  make  double  and  triple 
reimbursement." 

The  old  man  was  gratified  with  this  assurance  ;  he  gave 
the  knight  a  nod  of  approbation,  and  now  drained  his  cup 
with  an  easier  conscience  and  a  more  delicate  relish. 

Undine,  however,  said  to  Huldbrand  :  "As  to  the  repay- 
ment and  your  gold,  you  may  do  whatever  you  like. 
But  what  you  said  about  your  venturing  out,  and  searching, 
and  exposing  yourself  to  danger,  appears  to  me  far  from 
wise.  I  should  cry  my  very  eyes  out,  should  you  perish 
there  on  such  a  wild  jaunt ;  and  is  it  not  true,  that  you 
would  prefer  staying  here  with  me  and  the  good  wine  ?  " 

"  Most  assuredly,"  answered  Huldbrand,  smiling. 

"Well,"  replied  Undine,  "  you  spoke  unwisely  then. 
For  charity  begins  at  home  ;  our  neighbour  ought  not  to 
be  our  first  thought  ;  and  whatever  is  a  calamity  to  him, 
would  be  one  in  our  own  case  also." 

The  mistress  of  the  house  turned  away  from  her,  sigh- 
ing and  shaking  her  head,  while  the  fisherman  forgot  his 
wonted  indulgence  toward  the  graceful  little  girl,  and  thus 
reproved  her  : 

"  That  sounds  exactly  as  if  you  had  been  brought  up  by 
heathens  and  Turks ; "  and  he  finished  his  reproof  by  adding : 
"May  God  forgive  both  me  and  you,  —  unfeeling  child  !  " 

"  Well,  say  what  you  will,  this  is  what  I  think  and 
feel,"  replied  Undine,  "  be  they  who  they  may  that 
brought  me  up,  —  and  how  can  a  thousand  of  your  words 
help  it?" 

"  Silence ! "  exclaimed  the  fisherman,  in  a  voice  of 
stern  rebuke ;  and  she,  who  with  all  her  wild  spirit  was  at 
the  same  time  extremely  alive  to  fear,  shrunk  from  him, 
moved  close  up  to  Huldbrand,  trembling,  and  breathed 
this  question  in  the  lowest  tone  possible: 

"  Are  you  also  angry,  dear  friend  ? " 

The  knight  pressed  her  soft  hand,  and  tenderly  stroked 
her  locks.  He  was  unable  to  utter  a  word  ;  for  his  vexa- 
tion, arising  from  the  old  man's  severity  toward  Undine, 
closed  his  lips  ;  and  thus  the  two  couple  sat  opposite  to 
each  other,  at  once  heated  with  anger  and  in  embarrassed 
silence. 


CHAPTER  VI 


A    WEDDING. 


In  the  midst  of  this  painful  stillness,  a  low  knocking  was 
heard  at  the  door,  which  struck  them  all  with  dismay. 
For  there  are  times  when  a  slight  circumstance,  coming 
unexpectedly  upon  us,  startles  us  like  something  supernat- 
ural. But  here  it  was  a  further  source  of  alarm,  that  the 
enchanted  forest  lay  so  near  them,  and  that  their  place  of 
abode  seemed  at  present  inaccessible  to  the  visit  of  any 
thing  human.  While  they  were  looking  upon  one  another 
in  doubt,  the  knocking  was  again  heard,  accompanied  with 
a  deep  groan.  The  knight  sprang  to  seize  his  sword. 
But  the  old  man  said  in  a  low  whisper : 

"  If  it  be  what  I  fear  it  is,  no  weapon  of  yours  can 
protect  us." 

Undine,  in  the  mean  while,  went  to  the  door,  and  cried 
with  the  firm  voice  of  fearless  displeasure  :  "  Spirits  of 
the  earth  !  if  mischief  be  your  aim,  Kühleborn  shall  teach 
you  better  manners." 

The  terror  of  the  rest  was  increased  by  this  wild 
speech  ;  they  looked  fearfully  upon  the  girl,  and  Huld- 
brand  was  just  recovering  presence  of  mind  enough  to  ask 
what  she  meant,  when  a  voice  reached  them  from  without : 

"  I  am  no  spirit  of  the  earth,  though  a  spirit  still  in  its 
earthly  body.  You  that  are  within  the  cottage  there,  if 
you  fear  God  and  would  afford  me  assistance,  open  your 
door  to  me." 

By  the  time  these  words  were  spoken,  Undine  had 
already  opened  it ;  and  the  lamp  throwing  a  strong  illumi- 


44 

nation  upon  the  stormy  night,  they  perceived  an  aged 
priest  without,  who  stept  back  in  terror,  when  his  eye  fell 
on  a  sight  so  unexpected,  the  vision  of  a  little  damsel  of 
such  exquisite  beauty.  Well  might  he  think  there  must 
be  magic  in  the  wind,  and  witchcraft  at  work,  where  a 
form  of  such  surpassing  loveliness  appeared  at  the  door  of 
so  humble  a  dwelling.     So  he  lifted  up  his  voice  in  prayer  : 

"  Let  all  good  spirits  praise  the  Lord  God  !  " 

"  I  am  no  spectre,"  said  Undine  with  a  smile.  "  Do 
you  think  indeed,  I  look  so  very  frightful  ?  And  more,  — 
you  cannot  but  bear  me  witness  yourself,  that  I  am  far 
from  shrinking  terrified  at  your  holy  words.  I  too  have 
knowledge  of  God,  and  understand  the  duty  of  praising 
him ;  every  one,  to  be  sure,  has  his  own  way  of  doing 
this,  and  this  privilege  he  meant  we  should  enjoy,  when  he 
gave  us  being.  Walk  in,  father ;  you  will  find  none  but 
worthy  people  here." 

The  holy  man  came  bowing  in,  and  cast  round  a  glance 
of  scrutiny,  wearing  at  the  same  time  a  very  placid  and 
venerable  air.  But  water  was  dropping  from  every  fold  of 
his  dark  garments,  from  his  long  white  beard,  and  the 
white  locks  of  his  hair.  The  fisherman  and  the  knight 
took  him  to  another  apartment,  and  furnished  him  with  a 
change  of  raiment,  while  they  handed  his  own  suit  into 
the  room  they  had  left,  for  the  females  to  dry.  The  aged 
stranger  thanked  them  in  a  manner  the  most  humble  and 
courteous,  but  on  the  knight's  offering  him  his  splendid 
cloak  to  wrap  round  him,  he  could  not  be  persuaded  to 
take  it,  but  chose  instead  an  old  gray  overcoat  that  belonged 
to  the  fisherman. 

They  then  returned  to  the  common  apartment.  The 
mistress  of  the  house  immediately  offered  her  great  chair 
to  the  priest,  and  continued  urging  it  upon  him,  till  she 
saw  him  fairly  in  possession  of  it.  "  You  are  old  and 
exhausted,"  said  she,  "and  are  moreover  a  man  of  God." 

Undine  shoved  under  the  stranger's  feet  her  little  cricket, 
on  which  at  other  times  she  used  to  sit  near  to  Huldbrand, 
and  showed  herself,  in  thus  promoting  the  comfort  of  the 
worthy  old  man,  in  the  highest  degree  gentle  and  amiable. 
On  her  paying  him  these  little  attentions,  Huldbrand  whis- 
pered some  raillery  in  her  ear,  but  she  replied  gravely : 


45 

"  He  is  a  minister  of  that  Being,  who  created  us  all,  and 
holy  things  are  not  to  be  treated  with  lightness." 

The  knight  and  the  fisherman  now  refreshed  the  priest 
with  food  and  wine  ;  and  when  he  had  somewhat  recovered 
his  strength  and  spirits,  he  began  to  relate  how  he  had  the 
day  before  set  out  from  his  cloister,  which  was  situated 
afar  off  beyond  the  great  lake,  in  order  to  visit  the  bishop, 
and  acquaint  him  with  the  distress,  into  which  the  cloister 
and  its  tributary  villages  had  fallen,  owing  to  the  extraor- 
dinary floods.  After  a  long  and  wearisome  wandering,  on 
account  of  the  same  rise  of  the  waters,  he  had  been  this 
day  compelled  toward  evening  to  procure  the  aid  of  a 
couple  of  stout  boatmen,  and  cross  over  an  arm  of  the 
lake  which  had  burst  its  usual  boundary. 

"But  hardly,"  continued  he,  "had  our  small  ferry-boat 
touched  the  waves,  when  that  furious  tempest  burst  forth, 
which  is  still  raging  over  our  heads.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
billows  had  been  waiting  our  approach,  only  to  rush  upon 
us  with  a  madne?s  the  more  wild.  The  oars  were  wrested 
from  the  grasp  of  my  men  in  an  instant ;  and  shivered  by 
the  resistless  force,  they  drove  further  and  further  out 
before  us  upon  the  waves.  Unable  to  direct  our  course, 
we  yielded  to  the  blind  power  of  nature,  and  seemed  to 
fly  over  the  surges  toward  your  remote  shore,  which  we 
already  saw  looming  through  the  mist  and  foam  of  the 
deep.  Then  it  was  at  last,  that  our  boat  turned  short  from 
its  course,  and  rocked  with  a  motion  that  became  more 
and  more  wild  and  dizzy  :  I  know  not  whether  it  was 
overset,  or  the  violence  of  the  motion  threw  me  overboard. 
In  my  agony  and  struggle  at  the  thought  of  a  near  and 
terrible  death,  the  waves  bore  me  onward,  till  one  of  them 
cast  me  ashore  here  beneath  the  trees  of  your  island." 

"  Yes,  an  island  !  "  cried  the  fisherman.  "  A  short 
time  ago  it  was  only  a  point  of  land.  But  now,  since  the 
forest-stream  and  lake  have  become  all  but  mad,  it  appears 
to  be  entirely  changed." 

"  I  observed  something  of  it,"  replied  the  priest,  "  as  I 
stole  along  the  shore  in  the  obscurity  ;  and  hearing  nothing 
around  me  but  a  sort  of  wild  uproar,  I  perceived  at  last,  that 
the  noise  came  from  a  point,  exactly  where  a  beaten  foot- 
path disappeared.     I  now  caught  the  light  in  your  cottage, 


46 
and  ventured  hither,  where  I  cannot  sufficiently  thank  my 


heavenly  Father^trun^after  preserving  me  from  the  waters, 
he  has  also  conducted  me  to  such  pious  people  as  you  are ; 
and  the  more  so,  as  it  is  difficult  to  say,  whether  I  shall 
ever  behold  any  other  persons  in  this  world  except  you 
four." 

"  What  mean  you  by  those  words  ?  "  asked  the  fisher- 
man. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  then,  how  long  this  commotion  of 
the  elements  will  last  ?  "  returned  the  holy  man.  "  And 
the  years  of  my  pilgrimage  are  many.  The  stream  of  my 
life  may  easily  sink  into  the  ground  and  vanish,  before  the 
overflowing  of  that  forest-stream  shall  subside.  Indeed, 
taking  a  general  view  of  things,  it  is  not  impossible,  that 
more  and  more  of  the  foaming  waters  may  rush  in  between 
you  and  yonder  forest,  until  you  are  so  far  removed 
from  the  rest  of  the  world,  that  your  small  fishing-canoe 
may  be  incapable  of  passing  over,  and  the  inhabitants 
of  the  continent  entirely  forget  your  age  amid  the  dissipa- 
tion and  diversions  of  life." 

At  this  melancholy  foreboding,  the  old  lady  shrunk  back 
with  a  feeling  of  alarm,  crossed  herself,  and  cried  :  "  May 
God  forbid  ! " 

But  the  fisherman  looked  upon  her  with  a  smile,  and 
said  :  "  What  a  strange  being  is  man  !  Suppose  the  worst 
to  happen  :  our  state  would  not  be  different,  at  any  rate 
your  own  would  not,  dear  wife,  from  what  it  is  at  present. 
For  have  you,  these  many  years,  been  further  from  home 
than  the  border  of  the  forest  ?  And  have  you  seen  a  single 
human  being  beside  Undine  and  myself?  —  It  is  now  only 
a  short  time  since  the  coming  of  the  knight  and  the  priest. 
They  will  remain  with  us,  even  if  we  do  become  a  forgot- 
ten island  ;  so  after  all  you  will  derive  the  best  advantage 
from  the  disaster." 

"  I  know  not,"  replied  the  ancient  dame,  "  it  may  be 
so ;  still  it  is  a  dismal  thought,  when  brought  fairly  home 
to  the  mind,  that  we  are  forever  separated  from  mankind, 
even  though,  in  fact,  we  never  do  know  nor  see  them." 

"  Then  you  will  remain  with  us,  then  you  will  remain 
with  us!"  whispered  Undine  in  a  voice  scarcely  audible 
and  half  singing,  while  with  the  intense  fervour  of  the  heart 


47 

she  moved  more  and  more  closely  to  Huldbrand's  side. 
But  he  was  immersed  in  the  deep  and  strange  musings  of 
his  own  mind.  The  region  on  the  other  side  of  the  forest- 
river,  since  the  last  words  of  the  priest,  seemed  to  have 
been  withdrawing  further  and  further,  in  dim  perspective, 
from  his  view ;  and  the  blooming  island  on  which  he  lived, 
grew  green  and  smiled  more  freshly  before  the  eye  of  his 
mind.  His  bride  glowed  like  the  fairest  rose,  —  not  of  this 
obscure  nook  only,  but  even  of  the  whole  wide  world, 
and  the  priest  was  now  present. 

Beside  these  hopes  and  reveries  of  love,  another  circum- 
stance influenced  him :  the  mistress  of  the  family  was 
directing  an  angry  glance  at  the  fair  girl,  because,  even  in 
the  presence  of  their  spiritual  director,  she  was  leaning  so 
fondly  on  her  darling  knight ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  she  was 
on  the  point  of  breaking  out  in  harsh  reproof.  Then  was 
the  resolution  of  Huldbrand  taken ;  his  heart  and  mouth 
were  opened;  and,  turning  toward  the  priest,  he  said, 
"  Father,  you  here  see  before  you  an  affianced  pair,  and  if 
this  maiden  and  these  worthy  people  of  the  island  have  no 
objection,  you  shall  unite  us  this  very  evening." 

The  aged  couple  were  both  exceedingly  surprised. 
They  had  often,  it  is  true,  anticipated  an  event  of  this  na- 
ture, but  as  yet  they  had  never  mentioned  it ;  and  now 
when  the  knight  made  the  attachment  known,  it  came  upon 
them  like  something  wholly  new  and  unexpected.  Undine 
became  suddenly  grave,  and  cast  her  eyes  upon  the  floor 
in  a  profound  reverie,  while  the  priest  made  inquiries  re- 
specting the  circumstances  of  their  acquaintance,  and  asked 
the  old  people  whether  they  gave  their  consent  to  the  union. 
After  a  great  number  of  questions  and  answers,  the  affair 
was  arranged  to  the  satisfaction  of  all ;  and  the  mistress  of 
the  house  went  to  prepare  the  bridal  apartment  for  the 
young  couple,  and  also,  with  a  view  to  grace  the  nuptial 
solemnity,  to  seek  for  two  consecrated  tapers,  which  she 
had  for  a  long  time  kept  by  her. 

The  knight  in  the  mean  while  busied  himself  about  his 
gold  chain,  for  the  purpose  of  disengaging  two  of  its  links, 
that  he  might  make  an  exchange  of  rings  with  his  bride. 
But  when  she  saw  his  object,  she  started  from  her  trance 
of  musing,  and  exclaimed : 

"  Not  so !    my  parents  were  far  from  sending  me   into 


48 

the  world  so  perfectly  destitute ;  on  the  contrary,  they 
must  have  foreseen,  even  at  so  early  a  period,  that  such  a 
night  as  this  would  come." 

Thus  speaking,  she  was  out  of  the  room  in  a  moment, 
and  a  moment  after  returned  with  two  costly  rings,  of 
which  she  gave  one  to  her  bridegroom,  and  kept  the  other 
for  herself.  The  old  fisherman  was  beyond  measure  as- 
tonished at  this  ;  and  his  wife,  who  was  just  re-entering  the 
room,  was  even  more  surprised  than  he,  that  neither  of 
them  had  ever  seen  these  jewels  in  the  child's  possession. 

"My  parents,"  said  Undine,  "made  me  sew  these 
trinkets  to  that  beautiful  raiment,  which  I  wore  the  very 
day  I  came  to  you.  They  also  charged  me  on  no  ac- 
count whatever,  to  mention  them  to  any  one  before  my 
nuptial  evening.  At  the  time  of  my  coming,  therefore,  I 
took  them  off  in  secret,  and  have  kept  them  concealed  to 
the  present  hour." 

The  priest  now  cut  short  all  further  questioning  and 
wondering,  while  he  lighted  the  consecrated  tapers,  placed 
them  on  a  table,  and  ordered  the  bridal  pair  to  stand 
directly  before  him.  He  then  pronounced  the  few  solemn 
words  of  the  ceremony,  and  made  them  one  ;  the  elder 
couple  gave  the  younger  their  blessing ;  and  the  bride, 
slightly  trembling  and  thoughtful,  leaned  upon  the  knight. 

The  priest  then  spoke  plainly  and  at  once :  "  You  are 
strange  people  after  all ;  for  why  did  you  tell  me  you  were 
the  only  inhabitants  of  the  island  ?  So  far  is  this  from 
being  true,  I  have  seen,  the  whole  time  I  have  been  per- 
forming the  ceremony,  a  tall,  stately  man,  in  a  white 
mantle,  stand  opposite  to  me,  looking  in  at  the  window. 
He  must  be  still  waiting  before  the  door,  if  peradventure 
you  would  invite  him  to  come  in." 

"  God  forbid  !  "  cried  the  old  lady,  shrinking  back  ;  the 
fisherman  shook  his  head  without  opening  his  lips,  and 
Huldbrand  sprang  to  the  window.  It  appeared  to  him, 
that  he  could  still  discern  some  vestige  of  a  form,  white* 
and  indistinct  as  a  vapour,  but  it  soon  wholly  disappeared 
in  the  gloom.  He  convinced  the  priest  that  he  must  have 
been  quite  mistaken  in  his  impression  ;  and  now,  inspired 
with  the  freedom  and  familiarity  of  perfect  confidence,  they 
all  sat  down  together  round  a  bright  and  comfortable 
hearth. 


CHAPTER   VII. 


WHAT  FURTHER   HAPPENED    ON    THE    EVENING    OE    THE 
WEDDING. 


Before  the  nuptial  ceremony,  and  during  its  perform- 
ance, Undine  had  shown  a  modest  gentleness  and  maidenly 
reserve  ;  but  it  now  seemed  as  if  all  the  wayward  freaks 
that  effervesced  within  her,  were  foaming  and  bursting 
forth  with  an  extravagance  only  the  more  bold  and  unre- 
strained. She  teased  her  bridegroom,  her  foster-parents, 
and  even  the  priest,  whom  she  had  but  just  now  revered  so 
highly,  with  all  sorts  of  childish  tricks  and  vagaries ;  and 
when  the  ancient  dame  was  about  to  reprove  her  too  frolic- 
some spirit,  the  knight,  by  a  few  serious  and  expressive 
words,  imposed  silence  upon  her  by  calling  Undine  his  wife. 

The  knight  was  himself,  indeed,  just  as  little  pleased 
with  Undine's  childish  behaviour  as  the  rest;  but  still,  all 
his  winking,  hemming,  and  expressions  of  censure  were  to 
no  purpose.  It  is  true,  whenever  the  bride  observed  the 
dissatisfaction  of  her  husband,  —  and  this  occasionally 
happened,  —  she  became  more  quiet,  placed  herself  beside 
him,  stroked  his  face  with  caressing  fondness,  whispered 
something  smilingly  in  his  ear,  and  in  this  manner  smooth- 
ed the  wrinkles  that  were  gathering  on  his  brow.  But  the 
moment  after,  some  wild  whim  would  make  her  resume 
her  antic  movements,  and  all  went  worse  than  before. 

The  priest  then  spoke  in  a  kind,  although  serious  tone  : 

"  My   pleasant  young  friend,  surely  no  one  can  witness 

your  playful  spirit  without  being  diverted  ;  but  remember 

betimes  so  to  attune  your  soul,  that  it  may  produce  a  har- 

5 


50 

mony  ever  in  accordance  with  the  soul  of  your  wedded 
bridegroom." 

"  Soul  !  "  cried  Undine,  with  a  laugh,  nearly  allied  to 
one  of  derision  ;  "  what  you  say  has  a  remarkably  pretty 
sound,  and  for  most  people,  too,  it  may  be  a  very  instruc- 
tive rule  and  profitable  caution.  But  when  a  person  has 
no  soul  at  all,  how,  I  pray  you,  can  such  attuning  be  pos- 
sible ?     And  this  in  truth  is  just  my  condition." 

The  priest  was  much  hurt,  but  continued  silent  in  holy 
displeasure,  and  turned  away  his  face  from  the  maiden  in 
sorrow.  She,  however,  went  up  to  him  with  the  most 
winning  sweetness,  and  said  : 

"  Nay,  I  entreat  you,  first  listen  to  some  particulars, 
before  you  frown  upon  me  in  anger ;  for  your  frown  of 
anger  is  painful  to  me,  and  by  no  means  ought  you  to  give 
pain  to  a  creature,  that  has  itself  done  nothing  injurious  to 
you.  Only  have  patience  with  me,  and  I  will  explain  to 
you  every  word  of  what  I  meant." 

She  had  come  to  the  resolution,  it  was  evident,  to  give 
a  full  account  of  herself,  when  she  suddenly  faltered,  as  if 
seized  with  an  inward  shuddering,  and  burst  into  a  passion 
of  tears.  They  were  none  of  them  able  to  understand  the 
intenseness  of  her  feelings,  and  with  mingled  emotions  of 
fear  and  anxiety,  they  gazed  on  her  in  silence.  Then 
wiping  away  her  tears,  and  looking  earnestly  at  the  priest, 
she  at  last  said  : 

"  There  must  be  something  lovely,  but  at  the  same  time 
something  most  awful,  about  a  soul.  In  the  name  of 
God,  holy  man,  were  it  not  better  that  we  never  shared  a 
gift  so  mysterious  ?  " 

Again  she  paused  and  restrained  her  tears,  as  if  waiting 
for  an  answer.  All  in  the  cottage  had  risen  from  their 
seats,  and  stept  back  from  her  with  horror.  She,  however, 
seemed  to  have  eyes  for  no  one  but  the  holy  man :  a  fear- 
ful curiosity  was  painted  on  her  features,  and  this  made 
her  emotion  appear  terrible  to  the  others. 

"  Heavily  must  the  soul  wTeigh  down  its  possessor,"  she 
pursued,  when  no  one  returned  her  any  answer,  "  very 
heavily !  for  already  its  approaching  image  overshadows 
me  with  anguish  and  mourning.  And,  alas !  I  have  till 
now  been  so  merry  and  light-hearted!"  —  And  she  burst 


51 

into  another  flood  of  tears,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
veil. 

The  priest,  going  up  to  her  with  a  solemn  look,  now 
addressed  himself  to  her,  and  conjured  her  by  the  name  of 
God  most  holy,  if  any  evil  or  spirit  of  evil  possessed  her, 
to  remove  the  light  covering  from  her  face.  But  she 
sunk  before  him  on  her  knees,  and  repeated  after  him 
every  sacred  expression  he  uttered,  giving  praise  to  God, 
and  protesting  that  she  wished  the  well-being  of  the  whole 
world. 

The  priest  then  spoke  to  the  knight :  "  Sir  bridegroom, 
I  leave  you  alone  with  her,  whom  I  have  united  to  you  in 
marriage.  So  far  as  I  can  discover,  there  is  nothing  of 
evil  in  her,  but  assuredly  much  that  is  wonderful.  What  I 
recommend  to  vou  in  domestic  life,  —  is  prudence,  love, 
and  fidelity." 

Thus  speaking,  he  left  the  apartment,  and  the  fisher- 
man with  his  wife  followed  him,  crossing  themselves. 

Undine  had  sunk  upon  her  knees ;  she  uncovered  her 
face  and  exclaimed,  while  she  looked  fearfully  round  upon 
Huldbrand :  "  Alas,  you  will  now  refuse  to  regard  me  as 
your  own ;  and  still  I  have  done  nothing  evil,  poor  unhappy 
child  ! "  She  spoke  these  words  with  a  look  so  infinitely 
sweet  and  touching,  that  her  bridegroom  forgot  both  the 
confession  that  had  shocked,  and  the  mystery  that  had 
perplexed  him ;  and  hastening  to  her,  he  raised  her  in  his 
arms.  She  smiled  through  her  tears,  and  that  smile  was 
like  the  dawn  playing  upon  a  small  stream.  "  You  cannot 
desert  me  !  "  she  whispered  with  a  confiding  assurance, 
and  stroked  the  knight's  cheeks  with  her  little  soft  hands. 
He  was  thus  in  some  degree  withdrawn  from  those  terrible 
apprehensions,  that  still  lay  lurking  in  the  recesses  of  his 
soul,  and  were  persuading  him  that  he  had  been  married 
to  a  fairy,  or  some  spiteful  and  mischievous  being  of  the 
spirit-world ;  but,  after  all,  only  this  single  question,  and 
that  almost  unawares,  escaped  from  his  lips : 

"  Dearest  Undine,  pray  tell  me  this  one  thing ;  what 
was  it  you  meant  by  c  spirits  of  the  earth '  and  c  Kühle- 
born, '    wrhen  the  priest  stood  knocking  at  the  door? " 

"  Mere  fictions  !  mere  tales  of  children  ! "  answered 
Undine,  laughing,  now  quite  restored  to  her  wonted  gaiety. 


52 

"  I  first  awoke  your  anxiety  with  them,  and  you  finally 
awoke  mine.  This  is  the  end  of  the  story  and  of  our 
nuptial  evening.'5 

"  Nay,  not  exactly  that,"  replied  the  enamoured  knight, 
extinguishing  the  tapers,  and  a  thousand  times  kissing  his 
beautiful  and  beloved  bride,  while,  lighted  by  the  moon 
that  shone  brightly  through  the  windows,  he  bore  her  into 
their  own  bridal  apartment. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THE  DAY  AFTER  THE  WEDDING. 


The  fresh  light  of  morning  awoke  the  young  married 
pair.  Undine  bashfully  hid  her  face  beneath  their  cover- 
ing, and  Huldbrand  lay  lost  in  silent  reflection.  Whenever 
during  the  night  he  had  fallen  asleep,  strange  and  horrible 
dreams  of  spectres  had  disturbed  him;  and  these  shapes, 
grinning  at  him  by  stealth,  strove  to  disguise  themselves 
as  beautiful  females  ;  and  from  beautiful  females  they  all 
at  once  assumed  the  appearance  of  dragons.  And  when 
he  started  up,  aroused  by  the  intrusion  of  these  hideous 
forms,  the  moonlight  shone  pale  and  cold  before  the 
windows  without ;  he  looked  affrighted  at  Undine,  in  whose 
arms  he  had  fallen  asleep,  and  she  was  reposing  in  unalter- 
ed beauty  and  sweetness  beside  him.  Then  pressing  her 
rosy  lips  with  a  light  kiss,  he  again  fell  into  a  slumber, 
only  to  be  awakened  by  new  terrors. 

When  he  had  now  perfectly  awoke,  and  well  considered 
all  the  circumstances  of  this  connection,  he  reproached 
himself  for  any  doubt,  that  could  lead  him  into  error  in 
regard  to  his  lovely  wife.  He  also  earnestly  begged  her 
pardon  for  the  injustice  he  had  done  her,  but  she  only  gave 
him  her  fair  hand,  heaved  a  sigh  from  the  depth  of  her 
heart,  and  remained  silent.  But  a  glance  of  fervent  ten- 
derness, an  expression  of  the  soul  beaming  in  her  eyes, 
such  as  he  had  never  witnessed  there  before,  left  him  in 
undoubting  assurance,  that  Undine  was  conscious  of  no 
evil  design  against  him  whatever. 

He  then  rose  with  a  serene  mind,  and,  leaving  her,  went 
5* 


54 

to  the  common  apartment,  where  the  inmates  of  the  house 
had  already  met.  The  three  were  sitting  round  the  hearth 
with  an  air  of  anxiety  about  them,  as  if  they  feared  trust- 
ing themselves  to  raise  their  voice  above  a  low  apprehen- 
sive undertone.  The  priest  appeared  to  be  praying  in  his 
inmost  spirit,  with  a  view  to  avert  some  fatal  calamity. 
But  when  they  observed  the  young  husband  come  forth  so 
cheerful,  a  brighter  hope  rose  within  them,  and  dispelled 
the  cloudy  traces  that  remained  upon  their  brows ;  yes, 
the  old  fisherman  began  to  be  facetious  with  the  knight, 
but  in  a  manner  so  perfectly  becoming,  that  his  aged  wife 
herself  could  not  help  smiling  with  great  good-humour. 

Undine  had  in  the  mean  time  got  ready,  and  now  enter- 
ed the  door ;  when  all  were  on  the  point  of  rushing  to 
meet  her,  and  yet  all  continued  standing  in  perfect  admi- 
ration, so  changed  and  at  the  same  time  so  familiar  was 
the  young  woman's  appearance.  The  priest,  with  paternal 
affection  beaming  from  his  countenance,  first  went  up  to 
her,  and  as  he  raised  his  hand  to  pronounce  a  blessing,  the 
beautiful  bride,  trembling  with  devotion,  sunk  on  her  knees 
before  him  ;  she  begged  his  pardon,  in  terms  both  respect- 
ful and  submissive,  for  any  foolish  things  she  might  have 
uttered  the  evening  before,  and  entreated  him,  in  a  very 
pathetic  tone,  to  pray  for  the  welfare  of  her  soul.  She 
then  rose,  kissed  her  foster-parents,  and,  after  thanking 
them  for  all  the  kindness  they  had  shown  her,  said : 

"  O,  I  now  feel  in  my  inmost  heart,  how  great,  how 
infinitely  great,  is  what  you  have  done  for  me,  you  dear, 
dear  friends  of  my  childhood  !  " 

At  first  she  was  wholly  unable  to  tear  herself  away  from 
their  affectionate  caresses ;  but  the  moment  she  saw  the 
good  old  mother  busy  in  getting  breakfast,  she  went  to  the 
hearth,  applied  herself  to  cooking  the  food  and  putting  it 
on  the  table,  and  would  not  suffer  her  aged  friend  to  take 
the  least  share  in  the  work. 

She  continued  in  this  frame  of  spirit  the  whole  day  ; 
calm,  kind,  attentive  ;  —  at  the  same  time  a  little  mistress 
of  a  family,  and  a  tender,  modest  young  woman.  The 
three,  who  had  been  longest  acquainted  with  her,  expected 
every  instant  to  see  her  capricious  spirit  break  out  in  some 
whimsical  change  or  sportive  vagary.     But  their  fears  were 


55 

quite  unnecessary.  Undine  continued  as  mild  and  gentle 
as  an  angel.  The  priest  found  it  all  but  impossible  to  re- 
move his  eyes  from  her,  and  he  often  said  to  the  bridegroom  : 

"  The  bounty  of  Heaven,  Sir,  making  me  its  unworthy 
instrument,  entrusted  to  you  last  evening  an  invaluable 
treasure ;  regard  and  cherish  it  as  you  ought  to  do,  and  it 
will  promote  your  temporal  and  eternal  welfare." 

Toward  evening,  Undine  was  hanging  upon  the  knight's 
arm  with  lowly  tenderness,  while  she  drew  him  gently  out 
before  the  door,  where  the  setting  sun  shone  richly  over 
the  fresh  grass,  and  upon  the  high,  slender  boles  of  the 
trees.  Her  emotion  was  visible:  the  dew  of  sadness  and 
love  swam  in  her  eyes,  while  a  tender  and  fearful  secret 
hovered  upon  her  lips  ;  but  sighs,  and  those  scarcely  per- 
ceptible, were  all  that  made  known  the  wish  of  her  heart. 
She  led  her  husband  further  and  further  onward  without 
speaking.  When  he  asked  her  questions,  she  replied  only 
with  looks,  in  which,  it  is  true,  there  appeared  to  be  no 
immediate  answer  to  his  inquiries,  but  yet  a  whole  heaven 
of  love  and  timid  attachment.  Thus  they  reached  the 
margin  of  the  swollen  forest-stream,  and  the  knight  was 
astonished  to  see  it  gliding  away  with  so  gentle  a  murmur- 
ing of  its  waves,  that  no  vestige  of  its  former  swell  and 
wildness  was  now  discernible. 

"By  morning  it  will  be  wholly  drained  off,"  said  the 
beautiful  woman  with  an  accent  of  weeping,  "and  you 
will  then  be  able  to  travel,  without  any  thing  to  hinder 
you,  whithersoever  you  will." 

"  Not  without  you,  dear  Undine,"  replied  the  knight, 
laughing  ;  "  for  pray  remember,  even  were  I  disposed  to 
leave  you,  both  the  church  and  the  spiritual  powers,  the 
emperor  and  the  laws  of  the  realm,  would  require  the 
fugitive  to  be  seized  and  restored  to  you." 

"  All  this  depends  on  you,  all  depends  on  you  ; "  whis- 
pered his  little  companion,  half  weeping  and  half  smiling. 
"  But  I  still  feel  sure,  that  you  will  not  leave  me ;  I  am  in 
truth  too  fondly  attached  to  you  to  fear  that  misery.  Now 
bear  me  over  to  that  little  island,  which  lies  before  us. 
There  shall  the  decision  be  made.  I  could  easily,  indeed, 
slip  through  that  mere  rippling  of  the  water  without  your 
aid,  but  it  is  so  grateful  to  rest  in  your  arms ;  and  should 


56 

you  determine  to  put  me  away,  I  shall  have  sweetly  rested 
in  them  once  more,  .  .  .  for  the  last  time." 

Huldbrand  was  so  full  of  strange  anxiety  and  emotion, 
that  he  knew  not  what  answer  to  make  her.  He  took  her 
in  his  arms  and  carried  her  over,  now  first  realizing  the 
fact,  that  this  was  the  same  little  island,  from  which  he 
had  borne  her  back  to  the  old  fisherman,  the  first  night  of 
his  arrival.  On  the  further  side,  he  placed  her  upon  the 
soft  grass,  and  cherished  with  a  lover's  fondness  the  hope 
of  sitting  near  his  beautiful  burden;  but  she  said  to  him, 
"not  here,  —  if  you  please,  there,  over  against  me.  I 
shall  read  my  doom  in  your  eyes,  even  before  your  lips 
pronounce  it :  now  listen  very  attentively  to  what  I  shall 
relate  to  you."     And  she  began  : 

"  You  must  know,  my  dear  love,  that  there  are  beings 
in  the  elements,  which  bear  the  strongest  resemblance  to 
the  human  race,  and  which,  at  the  same  time,  but  seldom 
become  visible  to  you.  The  wonderful  salamanders  sparkle 
and  sport  amid  the  flames ;  deep  in  the  earth  the  meagre 
and  malicious  gnomes  pursue  their  revels;  the  forest- 
spirits  belong  to  the  air,  and  wander  in  the  woods ;  while 
in  the  seas,  rivers,  and  streams  live  the  wide-spread  race 
of  water-spirits.  These  last,  beneath  resounding  domes  of 
crystal,  through  which  the  sky  appears  with  sun  and  stars, 
inhabit  a  region  of  light  and  beauty  ;  lofty  coral  trees  glow 
with  blue  and  crimson  fruits  in  their  gardens  ;  they  walk 
over  the  pure  sand  of  the  sea,  among  infinitely  variegated 
shells,  and  amid  whatever  of  beauty  the  old  world  pos- 
sessed, such  as  the  present  is  no  more  worthy  to  enjoy ;  — 
creations,  which  the  floods  covered  with  their  secret  veils 
of  silver;  and  now  the  noble  monuments  glimmer  below, 
stately  and  solemn,  and  bedewed  by  the  water,  which  loves 
them,  and  calls  forth  from  their  crevices  exquisite  moss- 
flowers  and  enwreathing  tufts  of  sedge. 

"  Now  the  nation  that  dwell  there,  are  very  fair  and 
lovely  to  behold,  for  the  most  part  more  beautiful  than 
human  beings.  Many  a  fisherman  has  been  so  fortunate, 
as  to  catch  a  view  of  a  delicate  maiden  of  the  waters,  while 
she  was  floating  and  singing  upon  the  deep.  He  then 
spread  to  remotest  shores  the  fame  of  her  beauty,  and  to 
such  wonderful  females  men  are  wont  to  give  the  name  of 


57 

Undines.  But  what  need  of  saying  more  ?  —  You,  my 
dear  husband,  now  actually  behold  an  Undine  before  you." 

The  knight  would  have  persuaded  himself,  that  his 
lovely  wife  was  under  the  influence  of  one  of  her  odd 
whims,  and  that  she  was  only  amusing  herself  and  him 
with  her  extravagant  inventions.  He  wished  it  might  be 
so.  But  with  whatever  emphasis  he  said  this  to  himself, 
he  still  could  not  credit  the  hope  for  a  moment ;  a  strange 
shivering  shot  through  his  soul ;  unable  to  utter  a  word,  he 
gazed  upon  the  sweet  speaker  with  a  fixed  eye.  She 
shook  her  head  in  distress,  heaved  a  sigh  from  her  full 
heart,  and  then  proceeded  in  the  following  manner : 

"  In  respect  to  the  circumstances  of  our  life,  we  should 
be  far  superior  to  yourselves,  who  are  another  race  of  the 
human  family,  —  for  we  also  call  ourselves  human  beings, 
as  we  resemble  them  in  form  and  features,  —  had  we  not 
one  great  evil  peculiar  to  ourselves.  Both  we,  and  the 
beings  I  have  mentioned  as  inhabiting  the  other  elements, 
vanish  into  air  at  death,  and  go  out  of  existence,  spirit  and 
body,  so  that  no  vestige  of  us  remains ;  and  when  you 
hereafter  awake  to  a  purer  state  of  being,  we  shall  remain 
where  sand,  and  sparks,  and  wind,  and  waves  remain.  We 
of  course  have  no  souls ;  the  element  moves  us,  and, 
again,  is  obedient  to  our  will,  while  we  live,  though  it 
scatters  us  like  dust,  when  we  die ;  and  as  we  have  noth- 
ing to  trouble  us,  we  are  as  merry  as  nightingales,  little 
goldfishes,  and  other  pretty  children  of  nature. 

"But  all  beings  aspire  to  rise  in  the  scale  of  existence 
higher  than  they  are.  It  was  therefore  the  wish  of  my 
father,  who  is  a  powerful  water-prince  in  the  Mediterranean 
Sea,  that  his  only  daughter  should  become  possessed  of  a 
soul,  although  she  should  have  to  endure  many  of  the 
sufferings  of  those  who  share  that  gift. 

"  Now  the  race  to  which  I  belong,  have  no  other  means 
of  obtaining  a  soul,  than  by  forming  with  an  individual  of 
your  own  the  most  intimate  union  of  love.  I  am  now 
possessed  of  a  soul,  and  I,  the  very  soul  itself,  thank  you, 
dear  Huldbrand,  with  a  warmth  of  heart  beyond  expres- 
sion, and  never  shall  I  cease  to  thank  you,  unless  you 
render  my  whole  future  life  miserable.  For  what  will 
become   of  me,  if  you   avoid  and  reject  me  ?     I  was  not 


58 

permitted,  however,  to  retain  you  as  my  own  by  artifice. 
And  should  you  decide  to  cast  me  off,  then  do  it  now, 
. . .  leave  me  here,  and  return  to  the  shore  alone.  I  will 
plunge  into  this  brook,  where  my  uncle  will  receive  me ; 
my  uncle,  who  here  in  the  forest,  far  removed  from  his 
other  friends,  passes  his  strange  and  solitary  existence. 
But  he  is  powerful,  as  well  as  revered  and  beloved  by  many 
great  rivers ;  and  as  he  brought  me  hither  to  our  friends  of 
the  lake,  a  light-hearted  and  laughing  child,  he  will  also 
restore  me  to  the  home  of  my  parents,  a  woman,  possess- 
ing a  soul,  full  of  affection,  and  heir  to  suffering." 

She  was  about  to  add  something  more,  when  Huldbrand, 
with  the  most  heartfelt  tenderness  and  love,  clasped  her  in 
his  arms,  and  again  bore  her  back  to  the  shore.  There, 
amid  tears  and  kisses,  he  first  swore  never  to  forsake  his 
affectionate  wife,  and  esteemed  himself  even  more  happy 
than  the  Grecian  sculptor,  Pygmalion,  for  whom  Venus 
gave  life  to  his  beautiful  statue,  and  thus  changed  it  into  a 
beloved  wife.  Supported  by  his  arm,  and  cherishing 
within  her  the  sweet  confidence  of  affection,  Undine 
returned  to  the  cottage ;  and  now  she  first  realized  with 
her  whole  heart,  how  little  cause  she  had  for  regretting 
what  she  had  left,  the  crystal  palaces  of  her  mysterious 
father. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


HOW  THE  KNIGHT  TOOK  HIS  YOUNG  WIFE  WITH  HIM. 


Next  morning,  when  Huldbrand  awoke  from  slumber, 
and  perceived  that  his  beautiful  wife  was  not  by  his  side, 
he  began  to  give  way  again  to  his  wild  imaginations :  these 
represented  to  him  his  marriage,  and  even  the  charming 
Undine  herself,  as  only  a  shadow  without  substance,  a 
mere  illusion  of  enchantment.  But  she  entered  the  door 
at  the  same  moment,  kissed  him,  seated  herself  on  the 
bed  by  his  side,  and  said  : 

"  1  have  been  out  somewhat  early  this  morning,  to  see 
whether  my  uncle  keeps  his  word.  He  has  already 
restored  the  waters  of  the  flood  to  his  own  calm  channel, 
and  he  now  flows  through  the  forest,  a  rivulet  as  before, 
in  a  lonely  and  dreamlike  current.  His  friends  too,  both 
of  the  water  and  the  air,  have  resumed  their  usual 
peaceful  tenor ;  all  in  this  region  will  again  proceed  with 
order  and  tranquillity ;  and  you  can  travel  homeward 
without  fear  of  the  flood,  whenever  you  choose." 

It  seemed  to  the  mind  of  Huldbrand,  that  he  must  be 
wrapt  in  some  reverie  or  waking  dream,  so  little  was  he 
able  to  understand  the  nature  of  his  wife's  strange  relative. 
Notwithstanding  this,  he  made  no  remark  upon  what 
she  had  told  him,  and  the  infinite  charm  of  her  beauty, 
gentleness,  and  affection  soon  lulled  every  misgiving  to  rest. 

Some  time  afterward,  while  he  was  standing  with  her 
before  the  door,  and  surveying  the  verdant  point  of  land 
with  its  boundary  of  bright  waters,  such  a  feeling  of  bliss 
came  over  him  in  this  cradle  of  his  love,  that  he  exclaimed  : 

"  Shall  we  then,  so  early  as  to-day,  begin  our  journey  ? 


60 

Why  should  we  ?  it  is  probable,  that  abroad  in  the  world 
we  shall  find  no  days  more  delightful,  than  those  we  have 
spent  in  this  little  asylum,  so  secret  and  so  secure.  Let 
us  remain  here,  and  enjoy  two  or  three  more  of  its  glo- 
rious sunsets." 

"  Just  as  my  lord  shall  command,"  replied  Undine 
meekly.  "  Only  we  must  remember,  that  our  aged 
friends  will,  at  all  events,  think  of  my  departure  with 
pain ;  and  should  they  now,  for  the  first  time,  discover  the 
true  soul  in  me,  and  how  fervently  I  can  now  love  and 
honour  them,  their  feeble  eyes  would  surely  become  blind 
with  weeping.  As  yet,  they  consider  my  present  calm 
and  exemplary  conduct  as  of  no  better  promise  than  my 
former  occasional  quietness,  —  merely  the  calm  of  the  lake 
just  while  the  air  remains  tranquil,  —  and  they  will  now 
become  as  much  accustomed  to  cherish  a  little  tree  or 
flower,  as  they  have  been  to  cherish  me.  Let  me  not 
then  make  known  to  them  this  newly  bestowed,  this  love- 
inspired  heart,  at  the  very  moment  they  must  lose  it  for 
this  world ;  and  how  could  I  conceal  what  I  have  gained, 
if  we  continued  longer  together  ? " 

Huldbrand  yielded  to  her  representation,  and  went  to 
the  aged  couple  to  confer  with  them  respecting  his  jour- 
ney, on  which  however  he  proposed  to  set  out  that  very 
hour.  The  priest  offered  himself  as  a  companion  of 
the  young  married  pair ;  and,  after  their  taking  a  short 
farewell,  he  held  the  bridle,  while  the  knight  lifted  his 
beautiful  wife  upon  his  horse  ;  and  with  rapid  step  they 
crossed  the  dry  channel  with  her  toward  the  forest. 
LTndine  wept  in  silent  but  intense  emotion;  the  old  people, 
as  she  moved  away,  were  more  clamorous  in  the  expression 
of  their  grief.  They  appeared  to  feel,  at  this  moment  of 
separation,  a  presentiment  of  what  they  were  losing  in 
their  affectionate  foster-daughter. 

The  three  travellers  reached  the  thickest  shades  of  the 
forest  without  interchanging  a  word.  It  would  have  been 
a  picturesque  sight,  in  that  hall  of  leafy  verdure,  to  see  the 
figure  of  this  lovely  female  sitting  on  the  noble  and  richly 
ornamented  steed,  on  her  right  hand  the  venerable  priest 
in  the  white  garb  of  his  order,  on  her  left  the  blooming 
young  knight,  clad  in  splendid  raiment  of  scarlet,  gold,  and 


61 

violet,  girt  with  a  sword  that  flashed  in  the  sun,  and 
attentively  walking  beside  her.  Huldbrand  had  no  eyes 
but  for  his  fair  wife ;  Undine,  who  had  dried  her  tears  of 
tenderness,  had  no  eyes  but  for  him ;  and  they  soon  entered 
into  the  mute  and  voiceless  converse  of  looks  and  gestures, 
from  which  after  some  time  they  were  awakened  by  the 
low  discourse,  which  the  priest  was  holding  with  a  fourth 
traveller,  who  had  meanwhile  joined  them  unobserved. 

He  wore  a  white  gown,  resembling  in  form  the  dress  of 
the  priest's  order,  except  that  his  hood  hung  very  low 
over  his  face,  and  that  the  whole  drapery  floated  in  such 
wide  folds  around  him,  as  obliged  him  every  moment  to 
gather  it  up  and  throw  it  over  his  arm,  or  by  some  manage- 
ment of  this  sort  to  get  it  out  of  his  way,  and  still  it  did 
not  seem  in  the  least  to  incommode  him  in  his  movement. 
When  the  young  couple  became  aware  of  his  presence, 
he  was  saying : 

"  And  so,  venerable  Sir,  many  as  have  been  the  years 
I  have  dwelt  here  in  this  forest,  I  have  never  received  the 
name  of  hermit  in  your  sense  of  the  word.  For,  as  I 
said  before,  I  know  nothing  of  penance,  and  I  think  too, 
that  I  have  no  particular  need  of  it.  Do  you  ask  me  why 
I  am  so  attached  to  the  forest  ?  It  is  because  its  scenery  is 
so  peculiarly  picturesque,  and  affords  me  so  much  pastime, 
when,  in  my  floating  white  garments,  I  pass  through  its 
world  of  leaves  and  dusky  shadows;  —  and  then  a  sweet 
sunbeam  glances  down  upon  me,  at  times,  before  I  think 
of  it." 

"  You  are  a  very  singular  man,"  replied  the  priest, 
"  and  I  should  like  to  have  a  more  intimate  acquaintance 
with    you." 

"  And  who  then  may  you  be  yourself,  to  pass  from  one 
thing  to  another  ?"  inquired  the  stranger. 

"  I  am  called  father  Heilmann,"  answered  the  holy  man, 
"  and  I  am  from  the  cloister  of  our  Lady  of  the  Salutation, 
beyond  the  lake." 

"Well,  well,"  replied  the  stranger,  "my  name  is 
Kühleborn,  and  were  I  a  stickler  for  the  nice  distinctions 
of  rank,  I  might  with  equal  propriety  require  you  to  give 
me  the  title  of  noble  lord  of  Kühleborn,  or  free  lord  of 
Kühleborn ;  for  I  am  as  free  as  a  bird  in  the  forest,  and,  it 
6 


62 

may  be,  a  trifle  more  so.  For  example,  I  now  have  some- 
thing to  tell  that  young  lady  there."  And  before  they 
were  aware  of  his  purpose,  he  was  on  the  other  side  of  the 
priest,  close  to  Undine,  and  stretching  himself  high  into 
the  air,  in  order  to  whisper  something  in  her  ear.  But 
she  shrunk  from  him  in  terror,  and  exclaimed : 

"I  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  you." 

"  Ho,  ho,"  cried  the  stranger  with  a  laugh,  "  what  sort 
of  a  marriage  have  you  made,  then,  so  monstrous  and 
genteel,  since  you  no  longer  know  your  own  relations  ? 
Have  you  no  recollection  of  your  uncle  Kühleborn,  who 
so  faithfully  bore  you  on  his  back  to  this  region?" 

"  However  that  may  be,"  replied  Undine,  "  I  entreat 
you  never  to  appear  in  my  presence  again.  I  am  now 
afraid  of  you  ;  and  will  not  my  husband  fear  and  forsake 
me,  if  he  sees  me  associate  with  such  strange  company 
and  kindred  ?  " 

"You  must  not  forget,  my  little  niece,"  said  Kühleborn, 
"  that  1  am  with  you  here  as  a  conducter ;  otherwise  those 
madcap  spirits  of  the  earth,  the  gnomes  that  haunt  this 
forest,  would  play  you  some  of  their  mischievous  pranks. 
Let  me  therefore  still  accompany  you  in  peace;  even  the 
old  priest  there  had  a  better  recollection  of  me,  than  you 
appear  to  have,  for  he  just  now  assured  me,  that  I  seemed 
to  be  very  familiar  to  him,  and  that  I  must  have  been  with 
him  in  the  ferry-boat,  out  of  which  he  tumbled  into  the 
waves.  He  certainly  did  see  me  there,  for  I  was  no  other 
than  the  water-spout  that  tore  him  out  of  it,  and  kept  him 
from  sinking,  while  I  safely  wafted  him  ashore  to  your 
wedding." 

Undine  and  the  knight  turned  their  eyes  upon  father 
Heilmann ;  but  he  appeared  to  be  moving  forward,  just  as 
if  he  were  dreaming  or  walking  in  his  sleep,  and  no  longer 
to  be  conscious  of  a  word  that  was  spoken.  Undine  then 
said  to  Kühlebora  :  "  I  already  see  yonder  the  end  of  the 
forest.  We  have  no  further  need  of  your  assistance,  and 
nothing  now  gives  us  alarm  but  yourself.  I  therefore 
beseech  you,  by  our  mutual  love  and  good  will,  to  vanish 
and  allow  us  to  proceed  in  peace." 

Kühleborn  seemed  to  be  transported  with  fury  at  this  : 
he  darted  a  frightful  look  at  Undine,  and  grinned  fiercely 


63 

upon  her.  She  shrieked  aloud,  and  called  her  husband  to 
protect  her.  The  knight  sprung  round  the  horse  as  swift 
as  lightning,  and,  brandishing  his  sword,  struck  at  Kiihle- 
born's  head.  But,  instead  of  severing  it  from  his  body, 
the  sword  merely  flashed  through  a  torrent,  which  rushed 
foaming  near  them  from  a  lofty  cliff;  and  with  a  splash, 
which  much  resembled  in  sound  a  burst  of  laughter,  the 
stream  all  at  once  poured  upon  them,  and  gave  them  a 
thorough  wetting.  The  priest,  as  if  suddenly  awaking 
from  a  trance,  coolly  observed  :  "  This  is  what  I  have  been 
some  time  expecting,  because  the  brook  has  descended 
from  the  steep  so  close  beside  us,  —  though  at  first  sight, 
indeed,  it  appeared  to  look  just  like  a  man,  and  to  possess 
the  power  of  speech." 

As  the  waterfall  came  rushing  from  its  crag,  it  distinctly 
uttered  these  words  in  Huldbrand's  ear:  "  Rash  knight ! 
valiant  knight !  I  am  not  angry  with  you  ;  I  have  no  quarrel 
with  you ;  only  continue  to  defend  your  charming  little 
wife  with  the  same  spirit,  you  bold  knight !  you  rash 
blade !  " 

After  advancing  a  few  steps  further,  the  travellers  came 
out  upon  open  ground.  The  imperial  city  lay  bright 
before  them  ;  and  the  evening  sun,  which  gilded  its  towers 
with  gold,  kindly  dried  their  garments  that  had  been  so 
completely  drenched. 


CHAPTER  X. 


HOW  THEY  LIVED  IN  THE  CITY. 


The  sudden  disappearance  of  the  young  knight,  Huld- 
brand  of  Ringstetten,  had  occasioned  much  remark  in  the 
imperial  city,  and  no  small  concern  among  those  of  the 
people,  who,  as  well  on  account  of  his  expertness  in 
tourney  and  dance  as  in  consequence  of  his  mild  and 
amiable  manners,  had  become  attached  to  him.  His 
attendants  were  unwilling  to  quit  the  place  without  their 
master,  although  not  a  soul  of  them  had  been  courageous 
enough  to  follow  him  into  the  fearful  recesses  of  the  forest. 
They  remained  therefore  at  their  public  house,  in  the 
indulgence  of  idle  hope,  as  men  are  wont  to  do,  and,  by 
the  expression  of  their  fears,  kept  the  fate  of  their  lost 
lord  fresh  in  remembrance. 

Now  when  the  violent  storms  and  floods  had  been 
observed,  immediately  after  his  departure,  the  destruction 
of  the  handsome  stranger  became  all  but  certain  :  even 
Bertalda  had  quite  openly  discovered  her  sorrow,  and 
detested  herself  for  having  induced  him  to  take  that  fatal 
excursion  into  the  forest.  Her  foster-parents,  the  duke 
and  dutchess,  had  meanwhile  come  to  take  her  away,  but 
Bertalda  persuaded  them  to  remain  with  her  until  some 
certain  news  of  Huldbrand  should  be  obtained,  whether 
he  were  living  or  dead.  She  endeavoured  also  to  prevail 
upon  several  young  knights,  who  were  assiduous  in  court- 
ing her  favour,  to  go  in  quest  of  the  noble  adventurer  in 
the  forest.  But  she  refused  to  pledge  her  hand  as  the 
reward   of  the   enterprise,  because   she   still  cherished,  it 


65 

might  be,  a  hope  of  its  being  claimed  by  the  returning 
knight ;  and  no  one  would  consent,  for  a  glove,  a  ribband, 
or  even  a  kiss,  to  expose  his  life  to  bring  back  a  rival  so 
very  dangerous. 

When  Huldbrand  now  made  his  sudden  and  unexpected 
appearance,  his  attendants,  the  inhabitants  of  the  city,  and 
almost  all  the  people  rejoiced  :  we  must  acknowledge, 
indeed,  that  this  was  not  the  case  with  Bertalda ;  for 
although  it  might  be  quite  a  welcome  event  to  others,  that 
he  brought  with  him  a  wife  of  such  exquisite  loveliness, 
and  father  Heilmann  as  a  witness  of  their  marriage,  Ber- 
talda could  not  but  view  the  affair  with  grief  and  vexation. 
She  had  in  truth  become  attached  to  the  young  knight 
with  her  whole  soul,  and  then  her  mourning  for  his 
absence,  or  supposed  death,  had  been  more  unreservedly 
shown,  than  she  could  now  have  wished. 

But  notwithstanding  all  this,  she  conducted  herself  like 
a  prudent  woman  in  circumstances  of  such  delicacy,  and 
lived  on  the  most  friendly  terms  with  Undine,  whom  the 
whole  city  looked  upon  as  a  princess,  that  Huldbrand  had 
rescued  in  the  forest  from  some  evil  enchantment. 
Whenever  any  one  questioned  either  herself  or  her  hus- 
band relative  to  surmises  of  this  nature,  they  had  wisdom 
enough  to  remain  silent,  or  wit  enough  to  evade  the  inqui- 
ries. The  lips  of  father  Heilmann  had  been  sealed  in 
regard  to  idle  gossip  of  every  kind,  and  besides,  on  Huld- 
brand's  arrival,  he  had  immediately  returned  to  his  cloister; 
so  that  people  were  obliged  to  rest  contented  with  their 
own  wild  conjectures,  and  even  Bertalda  herself  ascer- 
tained nothing  more  of  the  truth  than  others. 

In  addition  to  this  state  of  things,  Undine  daily  regard- 
ed this  young  lady  with  increasing  fondness.  "  We  must 
have  been  heretofore  acquainted  with  each  other,"  she 
often  used  to  say  to  her,  "  or  else  there  must  be  some 
mysterious  connection  between  us  ;  for  it  is  incredible,  that 
one  individual  so  perfectly  without  cause,  I  mean  without 
some  deep  and  secret  cause,  should  be  so  fondly  attached 
to  another,  as  I  have  been  to  you  from  the  first  moment 
of  our  meeting." 

Even  Bertalda  could  not  deny,  that  she  felt  a  confiding 
impulse,  an  attraction  of  tenderness,  toward  Undine,  much 
6* 


66 

as  she  deemed  this  fortunate  rival  the  cause  of  her  bitter- 
est disappointment.  Under  the  influence  of  this  mutual 
regard,  they  found  means  to  persuade,  the  one  her  foster- 
parents,  and  the  other  her  husband,  to  defer  the  day  of 
separation  to  a  period  more  and  more  remote  ;  nay  more, 
they  had  already  begun  to  talk  of  a  plan  for  Bertalda's  ac- 
companying Undine  to  Castle  Ringstetten,  near  one  of  the 
sources  of  the  Danube,  and  spending  some  considerable 
time  with  her. 

Once  on  a  fine  evening,  while  they  were  promenading 
the  city  by  starlight,  they  happened  to  be  talking  over  their 
scheme  just  as  they  passed  the  high  trees,  that  bordered 
the  public  walk.  The  young  married  pair,  though  it  was 
somewhat  late,  had  called  upon  Bertalda  to  invite  her  to 
share  their  enjoyment ;  and  all  three  now  proceeded  famil- 
iarly up  and  down  beneath  the  dark-blue  heaven,  not  sel- 
dom interrupted  in  their  converse  by  the  admiration,  which 
they  could  not  but  bestow  upon  the  magnificent  fountain 
in  the  middle  of  the  square,  and  upon  the  wonderful  rush 
and  shooting  upward  of  its  water.  All  was  sweet  and 
soothing  to  their  minds  ;  among  the  shadows  of  the  trees 
stole  in  glimmerings  of  light  from  the  adjacent  houses  ;  a 
low  murmur  as  of  children  at  play,  and  of  other  persons 
who  were  enjoying  their  walk,  floated  around  them;  so 
lonely  were  they,  and  sharing  at  the  same  time  so  much 
of  social  happiness,  under  a  serene  sky  and  amid  the  living 
world,  that  whatever  had  appeared  difficult  by  day,  now 
became  smooth  and  easy  of  its  own  accord,  and  the  three 
friends  could  no  longer  see  the  slightest  cause  for  hesita- 
tion in  regard  to  Bertalda's  taking  the  journey. 

At  that  instant,  just  as  they  were  appointing  the  day  of 
their  departure,  a  tall  man  approached  them  from  the 
middle  of  the  square,  bowed  respectfully  to  the  company, 
and  spoke  something  in  the  young  bride's  ear.  Though 
displeased  with  the  interruption  and  its  cause,  she  walked 
aside  a  few  steps  with  the  stranger,  and  both  began  to 
whisper,  as  it  seemed,  in  a  foreign  tongue.  Huldbrand 
thought  he  recognized  the  strange  man  of  the  forest ;  and 
he  gazed  upon  him  with  a  look  so  intense  and  immoveable, 
that  he  neither  heard  nor  answered  the  astonished  inquiries 
of  Bertalda.     All  at  once  Undine  clapped  her  hands  with 


67 

delight,  and  turned  back  from  the  stranger,  laughing :  he, 
frequently  shaking  his  head,  retired  with  a  hasty  step  and 
discontented  air,  and  descended  into  the  fountain.  Huld- 
brand  now  felt  perfectly  certain,  that  his  conjecture  was 
correct,  but  Bertalda  asked  : 

"  And  what,  my  dear  Undine,  did  the  master  of  the 
fountain  wish  to  say  to  you  ?  " 

The  young  wife  secretly  laughed  within  herself,  and 
made  answer :  "  The  day  after  to-morrow,  my  dear 
child,  when  the  anniversary  of  your  name-day  returns,  you 
shall  be  informed."  And  this  was  all  she  could  be  prevail- 
ed upon  to  disclose.  She  merely  asked  Bertalda  to  dinner 
on  the  appointed  day,  and  requested  her  to  invite  her 
foster-parents  ;  and  soon  afterward  they  separated. 

"  Kühleborn  ?  "  said  Huldbrand  to  his  lovely  wife  with 
an  inward  shudder,  when  they  had  taken  leave  of  Bertalda, 
and  were  now  going  home  through  the  darkening  streets. 

"  Yes,  it  was  he,"  answered  Undine,  "  and  he  would 
have  wearied  me  with  stupid  warnings  and  forebodings 
without  end.  But  in  the  midst  of  his  senseless  trash, 
what  was  altogether  the  reverse  of  his  intention,  he  de- 
lighted me  with  a  most  welcome  piece  of  news.  If  you 
my  dear  lord  and  husband,  wish  me  to  acquaint  you  with 
it  now,  you  need  only  command  me,  and  I  will  freely  and 
from  my  heart  tell  you  all  without  reserve.  But  would 
you  confer  upon  your  Undine  a  very,  very  peculiar  pleas- 
ure, only  wait  till  the  day  after  to-morrow,  and  then  you 
too  shall  have  your  share  of  the  surprise." 

The  knight  was  quite  willing  to  gratify  his  wife,  in 
regard  to  what  she  had  requested  with  so  beautiful  a  spirit ; 
and  this  spirit  she  discovered  yet  more,  for  while  she  was 
that  night  falling  asleep,  she  murmured  to  herself  with  a 
smile :  "  How  she  will  rejoice  and  be  astonished  at  what 
her  master  of  the  fountain  has  told  me,  —  the  dear,  happy 
Bertalda!" 


CHAPTER  XI 


FESTIVAL  OF  BERTALDA'S  NAME-DAT. 


The  company  were  sitting  at  dinner;  Bertalda,  adorned 
with  jewels  and  flowers  without  number,  the  presents  of 
her  foster-parents  and  friends,  and  resembling  some  goddess 
of  Spring,  sat  beside  Undine  and  Huldbrand  at  the  head 
of  the  table.  When  the  sumptuous  repast  was  ended,  and 
the  dessert  was  placed  before  them,  permission  was  given 
that  the  doors  should  be  left  open :  this  was  in  accordance 
with  the  good  old  custom  in  Germany,  that  the  common 
people  might  enjoy  the  privilege  of  seeing  the  splendour 
and  sharing  the  festivity  of  their  superiors.  Among  these 
spectators  the  servants  carried  round  cake  and  wine. 

Huldbrand  and  Bertalda  waited  with  secret  impatience 
for  the  promised  explanation,  and  never,  except  when 
they  could  not  well  help  it,  removed  their  eyes  from  Un- 
dine. But  the  beautiful  woman  still  continued  silent,  and 
merely  smiled  to  herself  with  secret  and  heartfelt  satisfac- 
tion. All  who  were  made  acquainted  with  the  promise 
she  had  given,  could  perceive  that  she  was  every  moment 
on  the  point  of  revealing  a  secret,  which  she  felt  to  be  of 
an  exciting  nature ;  and  yet,  as  children  sometimes  delay 
tasting  their  choicest  dainties,  she  still  withheld  the  com- 
munication, with  a  denial  that  made  it  the  more  desired. 
Bertalda  and  Huldbrand  partook  of  the  same  delightful 
feeling,  while  in  anxious  hope  they  were  expecting  the 
unknown  disclosure,  which  they  were  to  receive  from  the 
lips  of  their  friend. 

At  this  moment,  several  of  the  company  pressed  Undine 


69 

to  give  them  a  song.  This  appeared  to  her  to  be  quite  a 
well-timed  request,  and,  immediately  ordering  her  lute  to 
be  brought,  she  sung  the  following  words : 

"  Morning  so  bright, 
Wild-flowers  so  gay, 
Where  high  grass  so  dewy 
Crowns  the  wavy  lake's  border. 

"  On  the  meadow's  verdant  bosom, 
What  glimmers  there  so  white  ? 
Have  wreaths  of  snowy  blossoms, 
Soft-floating,  fallen  from  heaven  ? 

"  Ah,  see  !  a  tender  infant !  — 
It  plays  with  flowers,  unwitting; 
It  strives  to  grasp  morn's  golden  beams. — 
O  where,  sweet  stranger,  where's  your  home  ? 
Afar  from  unknown  shores, 
The  waves  have  wafted  hither 
This  helpless  little  one. 

"  Nay,  clasp  not,  tender  darling, 
With  tiny  hand  the  flowers  ; 
No  hand  returns  the  pressure, 
The  flowers  are  strange  and  mute. 
They  clothe  themselves  in  beauty, 
They  breathe  a  rich  perfume, 
But  cannot  fold  around  you 
A  mother's  loving  arms;  — 
Far,  far  away  that  mother's  fond  embrace. 

M  Life's  early  dawn  just  opening  faint, 
Your  eye  yet  beaming  Heaven's  own  smile, 
So  soon  your  first,  best  guardians  gone  ;  — 
Severe,  poor  child,  your  fate, — 
All,  all  to  you  unknown. 

"  A  noble  duke  has  cross'd  the  mead, 
And  near  you  check'd  his  steed's  career: 
Wonder  and  pity  touch  his  heart; 
With  knowleJge  high  and  manners  pure 
He  rears  you,  —  makes  his  castle  home  your  own, 

"How  great,  how  infinite,  your  gain! 
Of  all  the  land  you  bloom  the  loveliest, 
Yet,  ah  !  that  first,  best  blessing, 
The  bliss  of  parents'  fondness, 
You  left  on  strands  unknown." 

Undine  touched  her  lute  with  the  low  undertones  of 
feeling,  and  paused  with  a  melancholy  smile  ;  the  eyes  of 
Bertalda's  ducal  foster-parents  were  filled  with  tears, 


70 

"  Ah  yes,  it  was  so,  —  such  was  the  morning  on  which 
I  found  you,  poor  amiable  orphan,"  cried  the  duke  with 
deep  emotion ;  "  the  beautiful  singer  is  certainly  right ; 
still 

1  That  first,  best  blessing, 
The  bliss  of  parents'  fondness,' 

it  was  beyond  our  power  to  give  you." — 

"  But  we  must  hear  also,  what  happened  to  the  poor 
parents,"  said  Undine,  as  she  struck  the  chords,  and  sung : 

"  Through  her  chambers  roams  the  mother, 
Searching,  searching  everywhere  ; 
Seeks,  and  knows  not  what,  with  yearning, 
Childless  home  still  finding  there. 

"  Childless  home  !  —  O  sound  of  anguish  ! 
She  alone  the  anguish  knows, 
There  by  day  who  led  her  dear  one, 
There  who  rock'd  its  night  repose. 

"  Beechen  buds  again  are  swelling, 
Sunshine  warms  again  the  shore, 
Ah,  fond  mother,  cease  your  searching, 
Comes  the  loved  and  lost  no  more. 

"  Then  when  airs  of  tve  are  fresh'ning, 
Home  the  father  wends  his  way, 
"While  with  smiles  his  woe  he's  veiling, 

Gushing  tears  his  heart  betray.  , 

"  Well  he  knows,  within  his  dwelling, 
Still  as  death  he'll  find  the  gloom, 
Only  hear  the  mother  moaning, — 
No  sweet  babe  to  smile  him  home." 

"  O  tell  me,  in  the  name  of  God  tell  me,  Undine, 
where  are  my  parents  ? "  cried  the  weeping  Bertalda. 
"  You  certainly  know,  you  must  have  discovered  them, 
"Jye»  wonderful  wmxHmTTdr  otherwise  you  would  never 
(  have  thus  torn  my  heart.  Can  they  be  already  here  ? 
May  I  believe  it  possible  ? "  Her  eye  glanced  rapidly 
over  the  brilliant  company,  and  rested  upon  a  lady  of  dis- 
tinction, who  was  sitting  next  to  her  foster-father. 

Then,  with  an  inclination  of  her  head,  Undine  beckoned 
toward  the  door,  while  her  eyes  overflowed  with  the  sweet- 
est emotion.  "Where  are  the  poor  parents  waiting?" 
she  asked,  and  the  old  fisherman,  diffident  and  hesitating, 


71 

advanced  with  bis  wife  from  the  crowd  of  spectators. 
Swift  as  the  rush  of  hope  within  them,  they  threw  a  look 
of  inquiry,  now  at  Undine,  and  now  at  the  beautiful  lady, 
who  was  said  to  be  their  daughter. 

"It  is  she!  it  is  she  there,  before  you  !  "  exclaimed  the 
restorer  of  their  child,  with  the  imperfect  utterance  of  rap- 
ture, and  both  the  aged  parents  embraced  their  recovered 
daughter,  weeping  aloud  and  praising  God. 

But,  shocked  and  indignant,  Bertalda  tore  herself  from 
their  arms.  Such  a  discovery  was  too  severe  for  her  proud 
spirit  to  bear,  especially  at  the  moment  when  she  had 
doubtless  expected  to  see  her  former  splendour  increased, 
and  when  hope  was  picturing  to  her  nothing  less  brilliant 
than  a  royal  canopy  and  a  crown.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if 
her  rival  had  contrived  all  this,  and  with  the  special  view 
to  humble  her  before  Huldbrand  and  the  whole  world. 
She  reproached  Undine,  she  abused  the  old  people,  and 
even  such  offensive  words  as  "  deceiver,  bribed  and  per- 
jured imposters,"  burst  from  her  lips. 

The  aged  wife  of  the  fisherman  then  said  to  herself,  but 
in  a  very  low  voice  :  "  Ah,  my  God  !  what  a  worthless  vix- 
en of  a  woman  she  has  grown  !  and  yet  I  feel  in  my  heart, 
that  she  is  my  child." 

The  old  fisherman,  however,  had  meanwhile  folded  his 
hands,  and  offered  up  a  silent  prayer,  that  she  might  not 
be  his  daughter. 

Undine,  faint  and  pale  as  death,  turned  from  the  parents 
to  Bertalda,  from  Bertalda  to  the  parents  ;  she  was  sudden- 
ly cast  down  from  all  that  heaven  of  happiness,  of  which 
she  had  been  dreaming,  and  plunged  into  an  agony  of  ter- 
ror and  disappointment,  of  which  until  now  she  had  never 
formed  even  a  dream. 

"  Have  you  a  soul  ?  Can  you  really  have  a  soul,  Ber- 
talda? "  she  cried  again  and  again  to  her  angry  friend,  as 
if  with  vehement  effort  she  would  rouse  her  from  a  sudden 
delirium  or  some  distracting  dream,  and  restore  her  to  re- 
collection. 

But  when  Bertalda  became  every  moment  only  more 
and  more  enraged,  as  the  disappointed  parents  began  to 
weep  aloud,  and  the  company,  with  much  warmth  of  dis- 
pute, were  espousing   opposite   sides,   she    discovered   a 


72 

prompt  and  admirable  presence  of  mind  :  she  begged  for 
the  liberty  of  speaking  in  this  her  husband's  dining-hall, 
and  so  worthy  of  praise  was  her  purpose,  and  so  earnest 
were  her  expressions  and  tones,  that  all  around  her  were 
in  an  instant  hushed  to  silence.  She  then  advanced  to  the 
upper  end  of  the  table,  where,  both  humbled  and  haughty, 
Bertalda  had  seated  herself,  and,  while  every  eye  was  fast- 
ened upon  her,  spoke  in  the  following  manner  : 

"  My  friends,  I  am  grieved  to  see  you  appear  so  dissat- 
isfied and  disturbed.  This  entertainment  of  mine,  which 
you  are  interrupting  with  your  heated  discussion,  I  had 
hoped  would  prove  a  satisfaction  to  you  and  myself.  Ah, 
my  God  !  I  knew  nothing  of  these  your  heartless  maxims, 
these  your  unnatural  ways  of  thinking,  and  never  so  long 
as  I  live,  I  fear,  shall  I  become  reconciled  to  them.  The 
disclosure  I  have  made,  it  seems,  is  unwelcome  to  you  ;  it 
has  produced  all  this  excitement  and  confusion ;  but  I  am 
not  to  blame  for  such  a  result.  Believe  me,  little  as  you 
may  imagine  this  to  be  the  case,  it  is  wholly  owing  to  your- 
selves. One  word  more,  therefore,  is  all  I  have  to  add, 
but  this  is  one  that  must  be  spoken  :  I  have  uttered  noth- 
ing but  truth.  Of  the  certainty  of  the  fact  I  give  you 
the  strongest  assurance ;  no  other  proof  can  I  or  will  I  pro- 
duce ;  but  this  I  will  affirm  in  the  presence  of  God.  The 
individual  who  gave  me  this  information,  was  the  very  per- 
son who  decoyed  the  infant  Bertalda  into  the  water,  and 
who,  after  thus  taking  her  from  her  parents,  placed  her  on 
the  green  grass  of  the  meadow,  where  he  knew  the  duke 
was  to  pass." 

"  She  is  an  enchantress,"  cried  Bertalda,  "  a  witch,  that 
has  intercourse  with  evil  spirits.  She  has  even  now  con- 
fessed it  herself." 

"  Never  !  I  deny  it,"  replied  Undine,  while  a  whole 
heaven  of  innocence  and  truth  beamed  from  her  eyes.  "  I 
am  no  witch  ;  look  upon  me,  see  and  acknowledge  the  in- 
justice of  her  words." 

"  Then  she  utters  both  falsehood  and  folly,"  cried  Ber- 
talda, "  and  she  is  unable  to  prove  that  I  am  the  child  of 
these  low  people.  My  noble  parents,  I  entreat  you  to 
take  me  from  this  company,  and  out  of  this  city,  beyond 
the  breath  of  calumny  and  abuse.  Nothing  but  detraction 
meets  me  here." 


73 

But  the  aged  duke,  a  man  of  honourable  feeling,  re- 
mained unmoved  by  her  excited  state,  and  his  lady  re- 
marked :  "  We  must  thoroughly  examine  the  circumstances 
of  this  matter.  God  forbid,  that  we  should  move  a  step 
from  this  hall,  before  we  do  so." 

Encouraged  by  this  kind  word,  the  aged  wife  of  the 
fisherman  drew  near,  made  a  low  obeisance  to  the  dutchess, 
and  said  :  "  Exalted  and  pious  lady,  you  have  opened  my 
heart.  Permit  me  to  tell  you,  that  if  this  evil-disposed 
maiden  is  my  daughter,  she  has  a  mark,  like  a  violet,  be- 
tween her  shoulders,  and  another  of  the  same  kind  on  the 
instep  of  her  left  foot.  If  she  will  only  consent  to  go  out 
of  the  hall  with  me " 

"  I  will  not  consent  to  uncover  myself  before  the  peasant 
woman,"  interrupted  Bertalda,  haughtily  turning  her  back 
upon  her. 

"  But  before  me  you  certainly  will,"  replied  the  dutch- 
ess  with  solemnity.  "  You  will  follow  me  into  that  room, 
young  woman,  and  the  worthy  old  lady  shall  go  with  us." 

The  three  disappeared,  and  the  rest  continued  where 
they  were,  in  the  hush  of  almost  unbreathing  expectation. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  females  returned,  Bertalda  pale  as 
death,  and  the  dutchess  said  :  "  Truth  must  be  acknow- 
ledged as  truth  ;  I  therefore  declare,  that  our  lady  hostess 
has  spoken  with  perfect  correctness.  Bertalda  is  the  fish- 
erman's daughter  ;  no  further  proof  is  required  ;  and  this 
is  all,  of  which  on  the  present  occasion  you  need  to  be 
informed." 

The  princely  pair  went  out  with  their  adopted  daughter ; 
the  fisherman,  in  consequence  of  a  sign  from  the  duke, 
followed  them  with  his  wife.  The  other  guests  retired  in 
silence,  or  but  imperfectly  suppressing  their  murmurs, 
while  Undine,  weeping  as  if  her  heart  would  break,  sunk 
into  the  arms  of  Huldbrand. 


CHAPTER  XII 


HOW  THEY  DEPARTED  FROM  THE  CITY. 


The  lord  of  Ringstetten  would  certainly  have  been 
more  gratified,  had  the  events  of  this  day  been  different ; 
but  even  such  as  they  now  were,  he  could  by  no  means 
look  upon  them  as  unwelcome,  since  his  fair  wife  had 
discovered  so  much  natural  feeling,  kindness  of  spirit,  and 
cordial  affection. 

"  If  I  have  given  her  a  soul,''  he  could  not  help  saying 
to  himself,  "  I  have  assuredly  given  her  a  better  one  than 
my  own  ;"  and  now  what  chiefly  occupied  his  mind,  was 
to  soothe  and  comfort  his  weeping  wife,  and  even  so  early 
as  the  morrow  to  remove  her  from  a  place,  which,  after 
this  cross  accident,  could  not  fail  to  be  distasteful  to  her. 
Yet  it  is  certain,  that  the  opinion  of  the  public  concerning 
her  was  not  changed.  As  something  extraordinary  had 
long  before  been  expected  of  her,  the  mysterious  discove- 
ry of  Bertalda's  parentage  had  occasioned  little  or  no  sur- 
prise ;  and  every  one  who  became  acquainted  with  the  dis- 
closure of  Bertalda's  story,  and  with  the  violence  of  her 
behaviour  on  that  occasion,  was  only  disgusted  and  set 
against  her.  Of  this  state  of  things,  however,  the  knight 
and  his  lady  were  as  yet  ignorant ;  besides,  whether  the 
public  condemned  Bertalda  or  herself,  the  one  view  of  the 
affair  would  have  been  as  distressing  to  Undine  as  the  other  ; 
and  thus  they  came  to  the  conclusion,  that  the  wisest  course 
they  could  take,  was  to  leave  behind  them  the  walls  of  the 
old  city  with  all  the  speed  in  their  power. 

With  the  earliest  beams  of  morning,  a  brilliant  carriage, 


75 

for  Undine,  drove  up  to  the  door  of  the  inn ;  the  horses  of 
Huldbrand  and  his  attendants  stood  near,  stamping  the 
pavement,  impatient  to  proceed.  The  knight  was  leading 
his  beautiful  wife  from  the  door,  when  a  fish-girl  came  up 
and  met  them  in  the  way. 

"  We  have  no  occasion  for  your  fish,"  said  Huldbrand, 
accosting  her,  "we  are  this  moment  setting  out  on  a  jour- 
ney." 

Upon  this  the  fish-girl  began  to  weep  bitterly,  and  then 
it  was  that  the  young  couple  first  perceived  it  was  Bertal- 
da.  They  immediately  returned  with  her  to  their  apart- 
ment, where  she  informed  them,  that,  owing  to  her  unfeel- 
ing and  violent  conduct  of  the  preceding  day,  the  duke  and 
dutchess  had  been  so  displeased  with  her,  as  entirely  to 
withdraw  from  her  their  protection,  though  not  before  giving 
her  a  generous  portion.  The  fisherman,  too,  had  received 
a  handsome  gratuity,  and  had,  the  evening  before,  set  out 
with  his  wife  for  his  beloved  peninsula. 

"  I  would  have  gone  with  them,"  she  pursued,  "  but 
the  old  fisherman,  who  is  called  my  father," 

"  He  certainly  is  your  father,  Bertalda,"  said  Undine, 
interrupting  her.  "  Pray  consider  what  I  tell  you  :  the 
stranger,  whom  you  took  for  the  master  of  the  water-works, 
gave  me  all  the  particulars.  He  wished  to  dissuade  me 
from  taking  you  with  me  to  Castle  Ringstetten,  and  there- 
fore disclosed  to  me  the  whole  mystery." 

"Well  then,"  continued  Bertalda,  "my  father, —  if  it 
must  needs  be  so,  —  my  father  said  :  'I  will  not  take  you 
with  me,  until  your  mind  and  manners  are  changed.  If 
you  will  leave  your  home  here  in  the  city,  and  venture  to 
come  to  us  alone  through  the  ill-omened  forest,  that  shall 
be  a  proof  of  your  having  some  regard  for  us.  But  come 
not  to  me  as  a  lady;  come  merely  as  a  fish-girl. ' — I  am 
determined,  therefore,  to  do  just  what  he  commanded  me  ; 
for  since  I  am  abandoned  by  all  the  world,  I  will  live  and 
die  in  solitude,  a  poor  fish-girl  with  parents  equally  poor. 
The  forest,  indeed,  appears  very  terrible  to  me.  Horrible 
spectres  make  it  their  haunt,  and  I  am  so  timorous.  But 
how  can  I  help  it?  —  I  have  only  come  here  at  this  early 
hour,  to  beg  the  noble  lady  of  Ringstetten  to  pardon  my 
unbecoming  behaviour  of  yesterday.     Dear  madam,  I  have 


76 

the  fullest  persuasion,  that  you  meant  to  do  me  a  kindness, 
but  you  were  not  aware,  how  severely  you  would  wound 
and  injure  me ;  and  this  was  the  reason,  that,  in  my  agony 
and  surprise,  so  many  rash  and  frantic  expressions  burst 
from  my  lips.  —  Forgive  me,  ah  forgive  me  !  I  am  in 
truth  so  unhappy  already.  Do  but  consider  what  I  was 
only  yesterday  morning,  what  I  was  even  at  the  beginning 
of  your  yesterday's  festival,  and  what  I  am  at  the  present 
moment  !  "  — 

Her  words  now  became  inarticulate,  lost  in  a  passionate 
flow  of  tears,  while  Undine,  bitterly  weeping  with  her,  fell 
upon  her  neck.  So  powerful  was  her  emotion,  that  it  was 
a  long  time  before  she  could  utter  a  word.  But  at  length 
she  said : 

"  Dearest  Bertalda,  do  not  despair ;  you  shall  still  go 
with  us  to  Ringstetten  ;  all  shall  remain  just  as  we  lately 
arranged  it ;  only,  in  speaking  to  me,  pray  continue  to  use 
the  familiar  and  affectionate  terms,  that  we  have  been 
wont  to  use,  and  do  not  pain  me  with  the  sound  of 
1  madam '  and  '  noble  lady,'  any  more.  Consider,  we 
were  changed  for  each  other,  when  we  were  children  ;  even 
then  we  were  united  by  a  like  fate,  and  we  will  strengthen 
this  union  with  such  close  affection,  as  no  human  power 
shall  dissolve.  Only  first  of  all  you  must  go  with  us  to 
Ringstetten.  As  to  the  manner  in  which  we  shall  share 
our  sisterly  enjoyments  there,  we  will  leave  that  to  be  talked 
over  after  we  arrive." 

Bertalda  looked  up  to  Huldbrand  with  timid  inquiry. 
He  pitied  the  fair  girl  in  her  affliction,  took  her  hand,  and 
begged  her,  with  the  greatest  tenderness,  to  intrust  herself 
to  him  and  his  wife. 

"  We  will  send  a  message  to  your  parents,"  continued 
he,  "  giving  them  the  reason  why  you  have  not  come;" — 
and  he  would  have  added  much  more  about  his  worthy 
friends  of  the  peninsula,  when,  perceiving  that  Bertalda 
shrunk  in  distress  at  the  mention  of  them,  he  waved  the 
subject.  Then  taking  her  under  the  arm,  as  they  left 
the  room,  he  lifted  her  first  into  the  carriage,  after  her  Un- 
dine, and  was  soon  trotting  blithely  beside  them ;  so  perse- 
vering was  he,  too,  in  urging  forward  their  driver,  that  in  a 
short  time  they  had  left  the  limits  of  the  city,  and  with 
these  a  crowd  of  painful  recollections ;  and  now  the  ladies 


77 

experienced  a  satisfaction,  more  and  more  exquisite,  as  their 
carriage  rolled  on  through  the  picturesque  scenes,  which 
their  progress  was  continually  presenting. 

After  a  journey  of  some  days,  they  arrived,  on  a  fine 
evening,  at  Castle  Ringstetten.  The  young  knight  being 
much  engaged  with  the  overseers  and  menials  of  his  estab- 
lishment,  Undine  and  Bertalda  were  left  alone.  Eager 
for  novelty,  they  took  a  walk  upon  the  high  rampart  of  the 
fortress,  and  were  charmed  with  the  delightful  landscape, 
which  fertile  Suabia  spread  around  them.  While  they 
were  viewing  the  scene,  a  tall  man  drew  near,  who  greeted 
them  with  respectful  civility,  and  who  seemed  to  Bertalda 
much  to  resemble  the  director  of  the  city  fountain.  Still 
less  was  the  resemblance  to  be  mistaken,  when  Undine, 
indignant  at  his  intrusion,  waved  him  off  with  an  air  of 
menace  ;  while  he,  shaking  his  head,  retreated  with  rapid 
strides,  as  he  had  formerly  done,  then  glided  among  the 
trees  of  a  neighbouring  grove,  and  disappeared. 

"  Do  not  be  terrified,  dear  Bertalda,"  said  Undine  ; 
"  the  odious  master  of  the  fountain  shall  do  you  no  harm 
this  time."  —  And  then  she  related  to  her  the  particulars 
of  her  history,  and  who  she  was  herself,  —  how  Bertalda 
had  been  taken  away  from  the  people  of  the  peninsula, 
and  Undine  substituted  in  her  place.  This  relation,  at 
first,  filled  the  young  woman  with  amazement  and  alarm  ; 
she  imagined  her  friend  must  be  seized  with  a  sudden 
alienation  of  mind.  But,  from  the  consistency  of  her 
story,  she  became  more  and  more  convinced  that  all  was 
true,  it  so  well  agreed  with  her  former  adventures,  and 
still  more  from  that  inward  feeling,  with  which  truth  never 
fails  to  make  itself  known  to  us.  She  could  not  but  view 
it  as  an  extraordinary  circumstance,  that  she  was  herself 
now  living,  as  it  were,  in  the  midst  of  one  of  those  wild 
fictions  of  romance,  which  she  had  formerly  heard  related 
for  mere  amusement.  She  gazed  upon  Undine  with  awe, 
but  could  not  avoid  feeling  a  shudder,  which  seemed  to 
separate  her  from  her  friend  ;  and  she  could  not  but  be 
extremely  astonished,  when  the  knight,  at  their  evening 
repast,  showed  himself  so  kind  and  affectionate  toward  a 
being,  who  appeared,  after  the  discoveries  just  made,  more 

like  a  phantom  of  the  spirit-world  than  one  of  the  human  race. 

7# 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


HOW  THEY  LIVED  AT  CASTLE  RINGSTETTEN. 


The  writer  of  this  history,  because  it  touches  his  own 
heart,  and  because  he  wishes  it  may  equally  move  the 
hearts  of  others,  begs  you,  dear  reader,  to  grant  him  a 
single  favour.  Excuse  him,  if  he  now  passes  over  a 
considerable  period  of  time,  and  gives  you  only  a  general 
account  of  its  events.  He  is  well  aware,  that,  perfectly 
conforming  to  the  rules  of  art  and  step  by  step,  he  might 
delineate  the  process,  by  which  Huldbrand's  warmth  of 
attachment  for  Undine  began  to  decline,  and  to  be  trans- 
ferred to  Bertalda ;  how  Bertalda  gradually  became  more 
and  more  attached,  and  met  the  young  man's  glance  with 
the  glow  of  love  ;  how  they  both  seemed  rather  to  fear 
the  poor  wife,  as  a  being  of  another  species,  than  to  sym- 
pathize with  her ;  how  Undine  wept,  and  her  tears  pro- 
duced remorse  in  the  knight's  heart,  yet  without  awakening 
his  former  tenderness,  so  that  his  treatment  of  her  would 
discover  occasional  impulses  of  kindness,  but  a  cold  shud- 
dering would  soon  drive  him  from  her  side,  and  he  would 
hasten  to  the  society  of  Bertalda,  as  a  more  congenial 
being  of  his  own  race ;  —  all  this,  the  writer  is  aware,  he 
could  describe  with  the  minute  touches  of  truth,  and 
perhaps  this  is  the  course  that  he  ought  to  pursue.  But 
his  heart  would  feel  the  task  to  be  too  melancholy ;  for, 
having  suffered  calamities  of  this  nature,  he  is  impressed 
with  terror  even  at  the  remembrance  of  their  shadows. 

You  have  probably  experienced  a  similar  feeling  your- 
self, my  dear  reader,  for  such  is  the  inevitable  allotment  of 
mortal  man.     Happy  are  you,  if  you  have  rather  endured 


79 

than  inflicted  this  misery,  since,  in  matters  of  this  kind, 
more  blessed  is  he  that  receives  than  he  that  gives.  For 
when  you  have  been  the  suffering  party,  and  such  remem- 
brances come  over  the  mind,  only  a  soft  pensiveness  steals 
into  the  soul,  and  perhaps  a  tender  tear  trickles  down  your 
cheek,  while  you  regret  the  fading  of  the  flowers,  in  which 
you  once  took  a  delight  so  exquisite.  But  of  this  no 
more ;  we  would  not  linger  over  the  evil,  and  pierce  our 
hearts  with  pangs  a  thousand-fold  repeated,  but  just  briefly 
hint  the  course  of  events,  as  I  said  before. 

Poor  Undine  was  extremely  distressed,  and  the  other 
two  were  far  from  being  happy ;  Bertalda  in  particular, 
whenever  she  was  in  the  slightest  degree  opposed  in  her 
wishes,  attributed  the  cause  to  the  jealousy  and  oppression 
of  the  injured  wife.  In  consequence  of  this  suspicious 
temper,  she  was  daily  in  the  habit  of  discovering  a  haughty 
and  imperious  demeanour,  to  which  Undine  submitted  in 
sad  and  painful  self-denial ;  and,  such  was  the  blind  delu- 
sion of  Huldbrand,  he  usually  supported  the  impropriety 
in  the  most  decisive  terms. 

What  disturbed  the  inmates  of  the  castle  still  more, 
was  the  endless  variety  of  wonderful  apparitions,  which 
assailed  Huldbrand  and  Bertalda  in  the  vaulted  passages 
of  the  building,  and  of  which  nothing  had  ever  been  heard 
before  within  the  memory  of  man.  The  tall  white  man, 
in  whom  Huldbrand  but  too  well  recognized  Undine's 
uncle  Kühleborn,  and  Bertalda  the  mysterious  or  spectral 
master  of  the  water-works,  often  passed  before  them  with 
threatening  aspect  and  gestures  ;  more  especially,  however, 
before  Bertalda,  so  that  she  had  already  several  times 
fainted  and  fallen  through  terror,  and  had  in  consequence 
frequently  thought  of  quitting  the  castle.  But  partly 
owing  to  her  excessive  fondness  for  Huldbrand,  as  well  as 
to  a  reliance  on  what  she  termed  her  innocence,  since  no 
declaration  of  mutual  attachment  had  ever  been  distinctly 
made,  and  partly  also,  because  she  knew  not  whither  to 
direct  her  steps,  she  lingered  where  she  was. 

The  old  fisherman,  on  receiving  the  message  from  the 
lord  of  Ringstetten,  that  Bertalda  was  a  welcome  guest  in 
his  family,  returned  answer  in  some  lines  almost  too  illegi- 
ble to  be  deciphered,  but  still  the  best  his  advanced  life 
and  long  disuse  of  writing  permitted  him  to  form. 


80 

"  I  have  now  become,"  he  wrote,  "  a  poor  old  widower, 
for  my  beloved  and  faithful  wife  is  dead.  But  bereaved 
and  disconsolate  as  I  am,  sitting  solitary  in  my  cottage,  I 
prefer  Bertalda's  remaining  where  she  is,  to  her  living  with 
me.  One  thing  is  all  I  have  to  ask,  which  is  this,  that 
she  do  nothing  to  hurt  my  dear  Undine,  or  to  make  her 
unhappy.  Should  she  be  thus  guilty,  she  must  expect, 
what  she  will  certainly  have,  the  visitation  of  a  father's 
curse." 

The  last  words  of  this  letter,  awful  as  they  were, 
Bertalda  flung  to  the  winds ;  but  the  permission  to  remain 
from  home,  which  her  father  had  granted  her,  she  remem- 
bered and  clung  to  as  a  peculiar  indulgence,  just  as  we  are 
all  wont  to  do  in  like  circumstances. 

One  day,  a  few  moments  after  Huldbrand  had  ridden 
out,  Undine  called  together  the  domestics  of  the  family, 
and  ordered  them  to  bring  a  large  stone,  and  carefully  to 
cover  with  it  a  magnificent  fountain,  that  was  situated  in 
the  middle  of  the  castle  court.  The  servants  ventured  to 
hint  as  an  objection,  that  it  would  oblige  them  to  bring 
their  water  from  the  valley  below,  which  was  at  an  incon- 
venient distance.  Undine  smiled  with  an  expression  of 
melancholy. 

"I  am  sorry,  dear  children,"  replied  she,  "to  increase 
your  labour ;  I  should  prefer  to  bring  up  the  water  vessels 
myself,  but  this  fountain  must  indeed  be  closed.  Believe 
me  when  I  say,  that  it  must  be  done,  and  that  by  doing  it 
we  only  avoid  a  greater  evil,  —  one  that  may  well  be 
called  a  calamity." 

The  domestics  were  all  delighted  to  gratify  their  gentle 
mistress  ;  and  making  no  further  inquiry,  they  seized  the 
enormous  stone.  While  they  were  raising  it  in  their  hands, 
and  were  now  on  the  point  of  adjusting  it  over  the  foun- 
tain, Bertalda  came  running  to  the  place,  and  cried  with 
an  air  of  command,  that  they  must  stop  ;  that  the  water 
she  used,  so  improving  to  her  complexion,  she  was  wont 
to  have  brought  from  this  fountain,  and  that  she  would  by 
no  means  allow  it  to  be  closed. 

This  time,  however,  Undine,  while  she  showed  her  usual 
gentleness  and  more  than  her  usual  resolution,  remained 
firm  to  her  purpose  :  she  said  it  belonged  to  her,  as  mistress 
of  the  castle,  to  direct  the  regulations  of  the  household 


81 

according  to   her  own  best  judgment,  and  that  she  was 
accountable  in  this  to  no  one  but  her  lord  and  husband. 

"  See,  O  pray,  see  I "  exclaimed  the  dissatisfied  and 
indignant  Bertalda,  "how  the  beautiful  water  is  curling 
and  curving,  winding  and  waving  there,  as  if  disturbed  at 
being  shut  out  from  the  bright  sunshine,  and  from  the 
cheerful  view  of  the  human  countenance,  for  whose  mirror 
it  was  created." 

In  truth,  the  water  of  the  fountain  was  agitated,  and 
foaming,  and  hissing  in  a  surprising  manner ;  it  seemed  as 
if  there  were  something  within,  possessing  life  and  will,  that 
was  struggling  to  free  itself  from  confinement.  But  Un- 
dine only  the  more  earnestly  urged  on  the  accomplishment 
of  her  commands.  This  earnestness  was  scarcely  required. 
The  servants  of  the  castle  were  as  happy  in  obeying  their 
sweet-tempered  lady,  as  in  opposing  the  haughty  spirit  of 
Bertalda;  and  with  whatever  rudeness  the  latter  might 
even  scold  and  threaten,  still  the  stone  was  in  a  few  min- 
utes lying  firm  over  the  opening  of  the  fountain.  Undine 
leaned  thoughtfully  over  it,  and  wrote  with  her  beautiful 
fingers  on  the  flat  surface.  She  must,  however,  have  had 
something  very  acrid  and  corrosive  in  her  hand  ;  for  when 
she  retired,  and  the  domestics  went  up  to  examine  the 
stone,  they  discovered  various  strange  characters  upon  it, 
which  none  of  them  had  seen  there  before. 

When  the  knight  returned  home  toward  evening,  Ber- 
talda received  him  with  tears  and  complaints  of  Undine's 
treatment  of  her.  He  threw  a  severe  look  at  his  poor 
wife,  and  she  cast  down  her  eyes  in  evident  distress.  Still 
she  spoke  with  great  firmness  : 

"  My  lord  and  husband,  you  never  reprove  even  a  bond- 
slave, before  you  hear  his  defence, —  how  much  less  then 
your  wedded  wife  !  " 

" Speak,  what  moved  you  to  this  singular  conduct?" 
said  the  knight  with  a  gloomy  countenance. 

"  I  could  wish  to  tell  you,  when  we  are  entirely  alone," 
said  Undine  with  a  sigh. 

"  You  can  tell  me  equally  well  in  the  presence  of  Ber- 
talda," he  replied. 

"  Yes,  if  you  command  me,"  said  Undine,  "  but  do  not 
command  me.     Pray,  pray,  do  not !  " 


82 

She  looked  so  humble,  affectionate,  and  obedient,  that 
the  heart  of  the  knight  was  touched  and  softened,  as  if  it 
felt  the  influence  of  a  ray  from  better  times.  He  kindly 
took  her  arm  within  his,  and  led  her  to  his  apartment, 
where  she  spoke  as  follows : 

"  You  already  know  something,  my  beloved  lord,  of 
Kühleborn,  my  evil-disposed  uncle,  and  have  often  felt  dis- 
pleasure at  meeting  him  in  the  passages  of  this  castle. 
Several  times  has  he  terrified  Bertalda  even  to  swooning. 
He  does  this,  because  he  possesses  no  soul,  being  a  mere 
elementary  mirror  of  the  outward  world,  while  of  the  world 
within  he  can  give  no  reflection.  Then,  too,  he  some- 
times observes,  that  you  are  displeased  with  me,  that  in 
my  childish  weakness  I  weep  at  this,  and  that  Bertalda,  it 
may  be,  is  laughing  at  the  same  moment.  Hence  it  is, 
that  he  conceives  every  sort  of  wrong  and  unkindness  to 
exist,  and  in  various  ways  mixes  with  our  circle  unbidden. 
What  do  I  gain  by  reproving  him  ?  by  showing  displeasure, 
and  sending  him  away  ?  He  does  not  believe  a  word  I 
say.  His  poor  imperfect  nature  affords  him  no  conception, 
that  the  pains  and  pleasures  of  love  have  so  mysterious  a 
resemblance,  and  are  so  intimately  connected,  that  no 
power  on  earth  is  able  to  separate  them.  Even  in  the 
midst  of  tears,  a  smile  is  dawning  on  the  cheek,  and  smiles 
call  forth  tears  from  their  secret  recesses." 

She  looked  up  at  Huldbrand,  smiling  and  weeping,  and 
he  again  felt  within  his  heart  all  the  magic  of  his  former 
affection.  She  perceived  it,  and  pressed  him  more  tender- 
ly to  her,  while  amid  tears  of  joy  she  went  on  thus : 

"  When  the  disturber  of  our  peace  would  not  be  dis- 
missed with  words,  I  was  obliged  to  shut  the  door  upon 
him;  and  the  only  entrance  by  which  he  has  access  to  us, 
is  that  fountain.  His  connexion  with  the  other  water- 
spirits,  here  in  this  region,  is  cut  off  by  the  valleys  that  bor- 
der upon  us,  and  his  kingdom  first  commences  further  off 
on  the  Danube,  in  whose  tributary  streams  some  of  his 
good  friends  have  their  abode.  For  this  reason  I  caused 
the  stone  to  be  placed  over  the  opening  of  the  fountain, 
and  inscribed  characters  upon  it,  which  baffle  all  the 
efforts  of  my  suspicious  and  passionate  uncle,  so  that  he 
now  has  no  power  of  intruding  either  upon  you,  or  me,  or 


83 

Bertalda.  Human  beings,  it  is  true,  notwithstanding  the 
characters  I  have  inscribed  there,  are  able  to  raise  the 
stone  without  any  extraordinary  trouble ;  there  is  nothing 
to  prevent  them.  If  therefore  this  be  your  resolve,  re- 
move it  according  to  Bertalda's  desire,  but  she  assuredly 
knows  not  what  she  asks.  The  rude  Kühleborn  looks  with 
peculiar  ill-will  upon  her  ;  and  should  much  come  to  pass 
that  he  has  imperfectly  predicted  to  me,  and  which  is  quite 
likely  to  happen,  without  your  meaning  any  evil,  — I  fear, 
I  fear,  my  dear  husband,  that  you  yourself  would  be  ex- 
posed to  peril." 

Huldbrand  felt  the  generosity  of  his  amiable  wife  in  the 
depth  of  his  heart,  since  she  had  been  so  active  in  con- 
fining her  formidable  defender,  and  even  at  the  very  mo- 
ment she  was  suffering  in  consequence  of  the  reproaches 
of  Bertalda.  Influenced  by  this  feeling,  he  pressed  her  in 
his  arms  with  the  tenderest  affection,  and  said  with 
emotion : 

"The  stone  shall  remain  unmoved,  all  remains  and  ever 
shall  remain,  just  as  you  choose  to  have  it,  my  dear,  very 
dear  Undine ! " 

At  these  long  withheld  expressions  of  tenderness,  she 
returned  his  caresses  with  lowly  delight,  and  ending  what 
she  had  to  say,  observed  :  "  My  dearest  husband,  since  you 
are  so  very  kind  and  indulgent  to-day,  may  I  venture  to 
ask  a  favour  of  you  ?  Pray  observe,  it  is  with  you  as  with 
Summer.  Even  amid  its  highest  splendour,  Summer  puts 
on  the  flaming  and  thundering  crown  of  glorious  tempests, 
in  which  it  strongly  resembles  a  king  and  god  on  earth. 
You  too  are  sometimes  terrible  in  your  rebukes ;  your  eyes 
flash  lightning,  while  thunder  resounds  in  your  voice ;  and 
although  this  may  be  quite  becoming  to  you,  I  in  my  folly 
cannot  but  sometimes  weep  at  it.  But  never,  I  entreat 
you,  discover  such  violence  toward  me  on  a  river,  or  even 
when  we  are  near  a  piece  of  water.  For  if  you  should, 
pray  consider  what  the  consequences  will  be  :  my  relations 
would  acquire  a  right  to  exercise  authority  over  me.  They 
would  tear  me  from  you  in  their  fury  with  inexorable  force, 
because  they  would  conceive  that  one  of  their  race  was  in- 
jured, and  I  should  be  compelled,  as  long  as  I  lived,  to 
dwell  below  in  the  crystal  palaces,  and  never  dare  ascend 


84 

to  you  again ;  or  should  they  send  me  up  to  you,  O  God ! 
that  would  be  infinitely  more  deplorable  still.  No,  no, 
my  beloved  husband,  let  it  not  come  to  that,  if  your  poor 
Undine  is  dear  to  you." 

He  solemnly  promised  to  do  as  she  desired,  and,  infinitely 
happy  and  full  of  affection,  the  married  pair  returned  from 
the  apartment.  At  this  very  moment,  Bertalda  came  with 
some  work-people,  whom  she  had  meanwhile  ordered  to 
attend  her,  and  said  with  a  fretful  air,  which  she  had 
assumed  of  late  :  — 

"  Well,  now  the  secret  consultation  is  at  an  end,  it  is  to 
be  hoped  the  stone  may  be  permitted  to  come  down.  Go 
out,  workmen,  and  execute  your  business." 

The  knight,  however,  highly  resenting  her  impertinence, 
said  in  brief  and  very  decisive  terms:  "The  stone  remains 
where  it  is  ;  "  he  reproved  Bertalda  also  for  the  vehement 
and  undisciplined  spirit  that  she  had  discovered  toward  his 
wife.  Whereupon  the  workmen,  smiling  with  secret  satis- 
faction, withdrew ;  while  Bertalda,  pale  with  rage,  hurried 
to  her  room. 

When  the  hour  of  supper  came,  no  Bertalda  appeared  : 
they  waited  for  her  in  vain.     They  sent  for  her ;  but  the 
domestic  found  her  apartments  empty,  and  brought  back 
~f      IJUk    w^  ^m  onty  a  sealed  billet,  addressed  to  the  knight.   W«k 
t2jfo  <Jj*«y~,   opened  it  in  alarm^  and  read  these  words  : 
jL  tL*  it  a-        "I  feel  with  shame,  that  I  am  only  the  daughter  of  a 
fi+* ,  poor  fisherman.     That  I  for  one  moment  forgot  this,  I  will 

make  expiation  in  the  miserable  hut  of  my  parents.     Fare- 
well, —  with  your  beautiful  wife  !  " 

Undine  was  troubled  at  heart.  With  passionate  empha- 
sis she  entreated  Huldbrand  to  hasten  after  their  friend, 
who  had  flown,  and  bring  her  back  with  him.  Alas  !  she 
had  no  occasion  to  urge  him.  His  passion  for  Bertalda 
again  burst  forth  with  vehemence.  He  hurried  round  the 
castle,  inquiring  whether  any  one  had  seen  which  way  the 
fair  fugitive  had  gone.  He  could  gain  no  information,  and 
was  already  in  the  court  upon  his  horse,  determining  to 
take  at  a  venture  the  road  by  which  he  had  conducted 
Bertalda  to  the  castle  ;  when  there  appeared  a  shield-boy, 
who  assured  him,  that  he  had  met  the  lady  on  the  path  to 
the  Black  Valley.     Swift  as  the  impulse  of  passion,  the 


85 

knight  sprung  through  the  gate  in  the  direction  pointed 
out,  without  hearing  Undine's  voice  of  agony,  as  she  cried 
after  him  from  the  window : 

"  To  the  Black  Valley  ?  O  not  there  !  Huldbrand,  not 
there !  or  if  you  will  go,  for  God's  sake  take  me  with 
you  ! " 

But  when  she  perceived  that  all  her  calling  was  of  no 
avail,  she  ordered  her  white  palfrey  to  be  instantly  saddled, 
and  followed  the  knight  without  permitting  a  single  servant 
to  accompany  her. 


CHAPTER  XIV.  . 


HOW  BERTALDA  RETURNED  WITH  THE  KNIGHT. 


The  Black  Valley  lies  secluded  far  among  the  moun- 
tains. What  its  present  name  may  be,  I  am  unable  to 
say.  At  the  time  of  which  I  am  speaking,  the  country- 
people  gave  it  this  appellation  from  the  deep  obscurity 
produced  by  the  shadows  of  lofty  trees,  more  especially 
by  a  crowded  growth  of  firs,  that  covered  this  region  of 
moor-land.  Even  the  brook,  which  gushed  out  among 
the  crags,  and  wound  its  way  down  a  ravine  into  the 
valley,  assumed  there  the  same  dark  hue,  and  exhibited 
nothing  ofthat  cheerful  aspect,  which  streams  are  wont  to 
wear,  that  have  the  blue  sky  immediately  over  them. 

It  was  now  the  dusk  of  evening,  and  the  view  between 
the  heights  had  become  extremely  wild  and  gloomy. 
The  knight,  in  great  anxiety,  skirted  the  border  of  the 
brook ;  he  was  at  one  time  fearful,  that  by  delay  he  should 
allow  the  fugitive  to  advance  too  far  before  him ;  and  then 
again,  in  his  too  eager  rapidity,  he  was  afraid  he  might 
somewhere  overlook  and  pass  by  her,  should  she  be  de- 
sirous of  concealing  herself  from  his  search.  He  had  in 
the  mean  time  penetrated  pretty  far  into  the  valley,  and 
felt  assured  of  soon  overtaking  the  maiden,  provided  he 
were  pursuing  the  right  track.  The  fear,  indeed,  that  he 
might  not  as  yet  have  gained  this  track,  made  his  heart 
beat  with  more  and  more  of  anxiety.  In  the  stormy  night, 
which  was  now  impending,  and  which  always  hovered 
more  fearfully  over  this  valley,  where  would  the  delicate 
Bertalda  shelter  herself,  should  he  fail  to  find  her  ?     At 


87 

last,  while  these  thoughts  were  darting  across  his  mind,  he 
saw  something  white  glimmer  through  the  branches  on  the 
ascent  of  the  mountain.  He  felt  quite  certain,  that  the 
object  he  discerned  was  Bertalda' s  robe,  and  he  directed 
his  course  toward  it.  But  his  horse  refused  to  go  forward  ; 
he  reared  with  a  fury  so  uncontrollable,  and  his  master 
was  so  unwilling  to  lose  a  moment,  that  (especially  as  he 
saw  the  thickets  were  altogether  impassable  on  horseback) 
he  dismounted,  and,  having  fastened  his  snorting  steed  to 
an  elm,  worked  his  way  with  caution  through  the  matted 
underwood.  The  branches,  moistened  by  the  cold  drops 
of  the  evening  dew,  keenly  smote  his  forehead  and  cheeks  ; 
thunder  muttered  remotely  on  the  further  side  of  the 
mountains  ;  and  every  thing  put  on  so  strange  and  mystic 
an  appearance,  that  he  began  to  feel  a  dread  of  the  white 
figure,  which  now  lay  only  a  short  distance  from  him  upon 
the  ground.  Still  he  could  see  with  perfect  clearness, 
that  it  was  a  female,  either  asleep  or  in  a  swoon,  and 
dressed  in  long  white  garments,  such  as  Bertalda  had 
worn  the  past  day.  Approaching  quite  near  to  her,  he 
made  a  rustling  with  the  branches  and  a  ringing  with  his 
sword,  —  but  she  did  not  move. 

"Bertalda!"  he  cried;  at  first  low,  then  louder  and 
louder  ;  still  she  heard  him  not.  At  last,  when  he  uttered 
the  dear  name  with  an  energy  yet  more  powerful,  a  hollow 
echo,  from  the  mountain-summits  around  the  valley,  re- 
turned the  deadened  sound,  "  Bertalda  !  "  Still  the 
sleeper  continued  insensible.  He  stooped  low,  with  a 
view  to  examine  her  countenance,  but  the  duskiness  of 
the  valley  and  the  obscurity  of  twilight  would  not  allow 
him  to  distinguish  her  features.  While  with  agonizing 
uncertainty  he  was  bending  near  to  her,  a  flash  of  lightning 
suddenly  shot  across  the  valley.  By  this  stream  of  light, 
he  saw  a  frightfully  distorted  visage  close  to  his  own,  and  a 
hoarse  voice  struck  him  with  startling  abruptness : 

"  You  enamoured  shepherd,  give  me  a  kiss  :"  Huldbrand 
sprang  upon  his  feet  with  a  cry  of  horror,  and  the  hideous 
figure  rose  with  him. 

"Home!"  it  cried  with  a  deep  murmur ;  "the  fiends 
are  abroad.  Home  !  or  I  have  you  ! "  And  it  stretched 
toward  him  its  long  white  arms. 


88 

"  Malicious  Kühleborn,"  exclaimed  the  knight  with 
restored  energy,  "if  Kühleborn  you  are,  what  business 
have  you  here  !  —  what's  your  will,  you  goblin  ! — There, 
take  your  kiss  !  "  —  And  in  fury  he  flashed  his  sword  at 
the  form.  But  the  form  vanished  like  vapour ;  and  a  rush 
of  water,  giving  the  knight  as  good  a  drenching  as  wetting 
him  to  the  skin  could  make  it,  left  him  in  no  doubt  with 
what  foe  he  had  been  engaged. 

"  He  wishes  to  frighten  me  back  from  my  pursuit  of 
Bertalda,"  said  he  to  himself;  "  he  imagines,  that  I  shall 
be  terrified  at  his  senseless  enchantments,  and  resign  the 
poor  distressed  girl  to  his  power,  so  that  he  can  wreak  his 
vengeance  upon  her  at  will.  But,  impotent  spirit  of  the 
flood  !  he  shall  find  himself  mistaken.  What  the  heart  of 
man  can  do,  when  it  exerts  the  full  force  of  its  will,  the 
strong  energy  of  its  noblest  powers,  of  this  the  feeble  en- 
chanter has  no  comprehension." 

He  felt  the  truth  of  his  words,  and  that,  in  thus  giving 
utterance  to  his  thoughts,  he  had  inspired  his  heart  with 
fresh  courage.  Fortune  too  appeared  to  be  in  league  with 
him ;  for,  before  reaching  his  fastened  steed,  he  distinctly 
heard  the  voice  of  Bertalda,  where  she  was  now  weeping 
and  now  moaning  not  far  before  him,  amid  the  roar  of  the 
thunder  and  the  tempest,  which  every  moment  increased. 
He  flew  swiftly  toward  the  sound,  and  found  the  trembling 
maiden,  just  as  she  was  attempting  to  climb  the  steep,  and 
striving  to  the  extent  of  her  power,  to  escape  from  the 
dreadful  darkness  of  this  valley.  He  stepped  before  her, 
while  he  spoke  in  tones  of  the  most  soothing  tenderness ; 
and  bold  and  proud  as  her  resolution  had  so  lately  been, 
she  now  felt  nothing  but  the  liveliest  gratitude,  that  the 
man,  whom  she  so  passionately  loved,  would  rescue  her 
from  this  frightful  solitude,  and  extending  to  her  his  arms 
of  welcome,  would  still  cast  a  brightness  over  her  existence 
in  their  re-union  at  the  castle.  She  followed  almost  unre- 
sisting, but  so  spent  with  fatigue,  that  the  knight  was  glad 
to  accompany  and  support  her  to  his  horse,  which  he  now 
hastily  unfastened  from  the  elm  :  his  intention  was  to  lift 
the  fair  wanderer  upon  him,  and  then  to  lead  him  carefully 
by  the  reins  through  the  uncertain  shades  of  this  lowland 
tract. 


89 

But,  owing  to  the  mad  appearance  of  Kühleborn,  the 
horse  had  become  altogether  unmanageable.  Rearing  and 
wildly  snorting  as  he  was,  the  knight  must  have  used 
uncommon  effort  to  mount  the  beast  himself;  to  place  the 
trembling  Bertalda  upon  him  was  impossible.  They  were 
compelled,  therefore,  to  return  home  on  foot.  While  with 
one  hand  the  knight  drew  the  steed  after  him  by  the  bridle, 
he  supported  the  tottering  Bertalda  with  the  other.  She 
exerted  all  the  strength  she  had  remaining,  in  order  to 
escape  from  this  vale  of  terrors  as  speedily  as  possible ;  but 
weariness  weighed  her  down  like  lead,  and  a  universal 
trembling  seized  her  limbs,  partly  in  consequence  of  what 
she  had  suffered  from  the  extreme  harassment  with  which 
Kühleborn  had  pursued  her,  and  in  part  from  her  contin- 
ual fear,  arising  from  the  roar  of  the  tempest  and  thunder 
amid  the  mountain  forest. 

At  last  she  slid  from  the  arm  of  her  conducter,  and, 
sinking  upon  the  moss,  she  said  :  "  I  can  no  more  ;  let  me 
lie  here,  my  noble  lord.  I  suffer  the  punishment  due  to 
my  folly,  and  nothing  can  save  me  now;  I  must  perish 
here  through  fain tn ess  and  dismay." 

"  Never,  my  dear  friend,  will  I  leave  you,"  cried 
Huldbrand,  vainly  trying  to  restrain  the  furious  animal  he 
was  leading;  for  the  horse  was  all  in  a  foam,  and  began  to 
chafe  more  ungovernably  than  before,  till  the  knight  was 
glad  merely  to  keep  him  at  such  a  distance  from  the  ex- 
hausted maiden,  as  would  secure  her  from  still  greater 
fear  and  alarm.  But  hardly  had  he  withdrawn  five  steps 
with  the  frantic  steed,  when  she  began  to  call  after  him  in 
the  most  sorrowful  accents,  fearful  that  he  would  actually 
leave  her  in  this  horrible  wilderness.  He  was  wholly  at  a 
loss  what  course  to  take.  Gladly  would  he  have  given 
the  enraged  beast  his  liberty,  —  he  would  have  let  him  rush 
away  amid  the  night,  and  exhaust  his  fury,  —  had  he  not 
shuddered  at  the  thought,  that  in  this  narrow  defile  his 
iron-shod  hoofs  might  come  trampling  and  thundering  over 
the  very  spot  where  Bertalda  lay. 

During  this  extreme  peril  and  embarrassment,  a  feeling 

of  delight,  not  to  be  expressed,  shot  through  him,  when  he 

heard  the  rumbling  wheels  of  a  wagon,  as  it  came  slowly 

descending  the  stony  slope  behind  them.     He  called  out 

8* 


90 

for  help  :  answer  was  returned  in  the  deep  voice  of  a  man, 
bidding  them  have  patience,  but  promising  assistance ;  and 
two  horses  of  grayish  white  soon  after  shone  through  the 
bushes,  and  near  them  their  driver  in  the  white  frock  of  a 
carter ;  and  next  appeared  a  great  sheet  of  white  linen,  with 
which  the  goods  which  he  seemed  to  be  conveying,  were 
covered.  The  whitish  grays,  in  obedience  to  a  shout  from 
their  master,  stood  still.  He  came  up  to  the  knight,  and 
aided  him  in  checking  the  fury  of  the  foaming  charger. 

" I  know  well  enough,"  said  he,  "what  is  the  matter 
with  the  brute.  The  first  time  I  travelled  this  way,  my 
horses  were  just  as  wilful  and  headstrong  as  yours.  The 
reason  is,  there  is  a  water-spirit  haunts  this  valley,  and  a 
wicked  wight  they  say  he  is,  who  takes  delight  in  mischief 
and  witcheries  of  this  sort.  But  I  have  learned  a  charm  ; 
and  if  you  will  let  me  whisper  it  in  your  horse's  ear,  he  will 
stand  just  as  quiet  as  my  silver  grays  there." 

"  Try  your  luck,  then,  and  help  us  as  quick  as  possi- 
ble !  "  said  the  impatient  knight. 

Upon  this  the  wagoner  drew  down  the  head  of  the  rear- 
ing courser  close  to  his  own,  and  spoke  some  half-dozen 
words  in  his  ear.  The  animal  instantly  stood  as  still  and 
subdued  as  usual,  excepting  his  quick  panting  and  smoking 
sweat,  produced  by  his  recent  violence. 

Huldbrand  had  little  time  to  inquire,  by  what  means 
this  had  been  effected.  He  agreed  with  the  man,  that 
he  should  take  Bertalda  in  his  wagon,  where,  as  he 
said,  a  quantity  of  soft  cotton  was  stowed,  and  he  might  in 
this  way  convey  her  to  Castle  Ringstetten  ;  the  knight 
could  accompany  them  on  horseback.  But  the  horse 
appeared  to  be  too  much  exhausted  to  carry  his  master  so 
far.  Seeing  this,  the  man  advised  him  to  mount  the 
wragon  with  Bertalda.  The  horse  could  be  tied  to  it  be- 
hind. 

"  It  is  down  hill,"  said  he,  "  and  the  load  for  my  grays 
will  therefore  be  light." 

The  knight  accepted  his  offer,  and  entered  the  wagon 
with  Bertalda ;  the  horse  followed  quietly  after,  while  the 
wagoner,  sturdy  and  attentive,  walked  beside  them. 

Amid  the  silence  and  deeper  obscurity  of  the  night,  the 
tempest  became  more   and  more  remote  and  hushed ;  in 


91 

the  comfortable  feeling  of  their  security  and  their  commo- 
dious passage,  a  confidential  conversation  arose  between 
Huldbrand  and  Bertalda.  He  reproved  her  in  the  most 
gentle  and  affectionate  terms  for  her  resentful  flight ;  she 
excused  herself  with  humility  and  emotion,  and  from  every 
tone  of  her  voice  it  was  clear, — just  as  a  lamp  guides  a 
lover  amid  the  secrecy  of  night  to  his  waiting  mistress,  — 
that  she  still  cherished  her  former  affection  for  him.  The 
knight  felt  the  force  of  what  she  said  far  too  powerfully  to 
regard  the  import  of  her  words,  and  his  replies  related 
merely  to  the  impression  he  received,  —  to  the  feeling  and 
not  the  confession  of  love. 

In  the  midst  of  this  interchange  of  murmured  feelings, 
the  wagoner  suddenly  shouted  with  a  startling  voice  :  "  Up, 
my  grays,  up  with  your  feet !  Hey,  my  hearts,  now 
together,  show  your  spirit !  Do  it  handsomely  !  remem- 
ber who  you  are  !  " 

The  knight  bent  pvejy  the  side  of  the  wagon,  and  saw 
that  the  horses  had  Aotoppod-  into  the  midst  of  a  foaming 
stream,  and  were,  indeed,  almost  swimming,  while  the 
wheels  of  the  wagon  were  rushing  round  and  flashing  like 
mill-wheels,  and  the  teamster  had  got  on  before  to  avoid 
the  swell  of  the  flood. 

"  What  sort  of  a  road  is  this  ?  It  leads  into  the  middle  of 
the  stream  I  "  cried  Huldbrand  to  his  guide. 

"  Not  at  all,  Sir,"  returned  he  with  a  laugh,  "  it  is  just 
the  contrary.  The  stream  is  running  in  the  middle  of  our 
road.  Only  look  about  you,  and  see  how  all  is  over- 
flowed." 

The  whole  valley,  in  fact,  was  covered  and  in  commo- 
tion, as  the  waves,  suddenly  raised  and  visibly  rising,  swept 
over  it. 

"  It  is  Kühleborn,  that  devil  of  a  water-spirit,  who  wishes 
to  drown  us!"  exclaimed  the  knight.  "Have  you  no 
charm  of  protection  against  him,  companion  ?  " 

"  Charm  !  to  be  sure  I  have  one,"  answered  the  wag- 
oner, "  but  I  cannot  and  must  not  make  use  of  it,  before 
you  know  who  I  am." 

"  Is  this  a  time  for  riddles  ? "  cried  the  knight.  "  The 
flood  is  every  moment  rising  higher  and  higher,  and  what 
does  it  concern  me  to  know  who  you  are  ? " 


92 

"  But  mayhap  it  does  concern  you  though,"  said  the 
guide,  "  for  I  am  Kühleborn." 

Thus  speaking,  he  thrust  his  face  into  the  wagon,  and 
laughed  with  every  feature  distorted ;  but  the  wagon  re- 
mained a  wagon  no  longer,  the  grayish  white  horses  were 
horses  no  longer;  all  was  transformed  to  foam,  —  all 
sunk  into  the  waves  that  rushed  and  hissed  around  them, — 
while  the  wagoner  himself,  rising  in  the  form  of  a  gigantic 
surge,  dragged  the  vainly  struggling  courser  under  the 
waters,  then  rose  again  huge  as  a  liquid  tower,  burst  over 
the  heads  of  the  floating  pair,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
burying  them  irrecoverably  beneath  it. 

At  that  instant,  the  soft  voice  of  Undine  was  heard 
through  the  uproar,  the  moon  emerged  from  the  clouds, 
and  by  its  light  Undine  became  visible  on  a  rising  ground 
of  the  valley.  She  rebuked,  she  threatened  the  flood 
below  her ;  the  menacing  and  tower-like  billow  vanished 
muttering  and  murmuring  ;  the  waters  gently  flowed  away 
under  the  beams  of  the  moon  ;  while  Undine,  like  a  hov- 
ering white  dove,  came  sweeping  down  from  the  knoll, 
seized  the  knight  and  Bertalda,  and  supported  them  to  a 
green  spot  of  turf  on  the  hillock,  where,  by  her  earnest 
efforts,  she  soon  restored  them,  and  dispelled  their  terrors. 
She  then  assisted  Bertalda  to  mount  the  white  palfrey,  on 
which  she  herself  had  been  borne  to  the  valley,  and  thus 
all  three  returned  homeward  to  Castle  Rinsstetten. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


PASSAGE  DOWN  THE  DANUBE  TO  VIENNA 


After  this  last  adventure,  they  lived  at  the  castle 
undisturbed  and  in  peaceful  enjoyment.  The  knight  was 
more  and  more  impressed  with  the  heavenly  goodness  of 
his  wife,  which  she  had  so  beautifully  discovered  by  her 
instant  pursuit,  and  by  the  rescue  she  had  effected  in  the 
Black  Valley,  where  the  power  of  Kühleborn  again  com- 
menced. Undine  herself  felt  that  peace  and  security, 
which  the  mind  never  fails  to  experience,  so  long  as  it  has 
the  consciousness  of  pursuing  the  path  of  rectitude  ;  and 
she  had  this  additional  comfort,  that,  in  the  newly  awaken- 
ed love  and  regard  of  her  husband,  Hope  and  Joy  were 
rising  upon  her  with  their  myriad  beams  of  promise. 

Bertalda,  on  the  other  hand,  showed  herself  grateful, 
humble,  and  timid,  without  taking  to  herself  any  merit  for 
so  doing.  Whenever  Huldbrand  or  Undine  began  to 
explain  to  her  their  reason  for  covering  the  fountain,  or 
their  adventures  in  the  Black  Valley,  she  would  earnestly 
entreat  them  to  spare  her  the  recital,  since  the  fountain 
had  occasioned  her  too  much  shame,  and  the  Black  Valley 
too  much  terror,  to  be  made  topics  of  conversation.  With 
respect  to  these,  therefore,  she  learnt  nothing  further  from 
either  of  them  ;  and  why  was  it  necessary  that  she  should 
be  informed  ?  Peace  and  Happiness  had  evidently  taken 
up  their  abode  at  Castle  Ringstetten.  They  enjoyed  their 
present  blessings  in  perfect  security ;  and  in  relation  to  the 
future,  they  now  imagined  it  impossible,  that  life  could 
produce  any  thing  but  pleasant  flowers  and  fruits. 


94 

In  this  grateful  union  of  friendship  and  affection,  winter 
came  and  passed  away ;  and  spring,  with  its  foliage  of 
tender  green  and  its  heaven  of  softest  blue,  succeeded  to 
gladden  the  hearts  of  the  inmates  of  the  castle.  The 
season  wTas  in  harmony  with  their  minds,  and  their  minds 
imparted  their  own  hue  and  tone  to  the  season.  What 
wonder,  then,  that  its  storks  and  swallows  inspired  them 
also  with  a  disposition  to  travel  !  On  a  bright  morning, 
while  they  were  taking  a  walk  down  to  one  of  the  sources 
of  the  Danube,  Huldbrand  spoke  of  the  magnificence  of 
this  noble  stream,  how  it  continued  swelling  as  it  flowed 
through  countries  enriched  by  its  waters,  with  what  splen- 
dour Vienna  rose  and  sparkled  on  its  banks,  and  how  it 
grew  lovelier  and  more  imposing  almost  the  whole  of  its 
progress. 

"  It  must  be  a  glorious  privilege,  once  in  our  life,  to 
trace  its  course  down  to  Vienna ! "  Bertalda  exclaimed 
with  warmth ;  but,  immediately  resuming  the  humble  and 
modest  demeanour  she  had  recently  shown,  she  paused 
and  blushed  in  silence. 

This  incident,  slight  as  it  may  appear,  was  extremely 
touching  to  Undine  ;  and  with  the  liveliest  wish  to  gratify 
her  friend,  she  said  :  "  And  who  or  what  shall  prevent 
our  taking  this  little  voyage  ? " 

Bertalda  leapt  up  with  delight,  and  the  two  females  the 
same  moment  began  the  work  of  imagination,  painting  this 
enchanting  trip  on  the  Danube  in  the  most  brilliant  colours. 
Huldbrand,  too,  agreed  to  the  project  with  pleasure  ;  only 
he  once  whispered  with  something  of  alarm  in  Undine's 
ear  : 

"  But,  at  that  distance,  Kühleborn  becomes  possessed  of 
his  power  again  ?  " 

"  Let  him  come,  let  him  come,"  she  answered  with  a 
laugh  ;  "  I  shall  be  there,  and  he  dares  do  none  of  his 
mischief  in  my  presence." 

Thus  was  the  last  impediment  removed ;  they  prepared 
for  the  expedition,  and  soon  set  out  upon  it  with  lively 
spirits  and  the  brightest  hopes. 

But  be  not  surprised,  O  man,  if  events  continually  hap- 
pen very  different  from  what  you  expect.  That  malign 
power,  which  lies  in  ambush  for  our  destruction,  delights 


95 

to  lull  its  chosen  victim  asleep  with  sweet  songs  and  golden 
delusions  ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  messenger  of 
Heaven,  sent  to  rescue  us  from  peril,  often  thunders  at 
our  door  with  the  violence  of  alarm  and  terror. 

During  the  first  days  of  their  passage  down  the  Danube, 
they  were  unusually  gratified.  The  further  they  advanced 
upon  the  waters  of  this  proud  river,  the  views  became 
more  and  more  picturesque  and  attractive.  But  here, 
amid  scenes  otherwise  most  delicious,  and  from  which 
they  had  promised  themselves  the  purest  delight,  here 
again  the  stubborn  Kühleborn,  dropping  all  disguise,  began 
to  show  his  power  of  annoying  them.  He  had  few  other 
means  of  doing  this,  indeed,  than  mere  tricks  and  illusions, 
for  Undine  often  rebuked  the  swelling  waves  or  the  con- 
trary winds,  and  then  the  insolence  of  the  enemy  was 
instantly  humbled  and  subdued  ;  but  his  attacks  were 
renewed,  and  Undine's  admonition  became  again  neces- 
sary ;  so  that  the  pleasure  of  this  little  water-party  was 
completely  destroyed.  The  oarsmen,  too,  were  continu- 
ally whispering  to  one  another  in  dismay,  and  eyeing  their 
three  superiors  with  distrust;  while  even  the  servants 
began  more  and  more  to  form  dismal  surmises,  and  to 
watch  their  master  and  mistress  with  looks  of  suspicion. 

Huldbrand  often  said  to  himself,  in  the  silence  of  his 
soul  :  "  This  comes  to  pass,  when  like  marries  not  like, 
—  when  a  man  forms  an  unnatural  union  with  a  female  of 
the  sea.  Still,  excusing  himself,  as  we  are  most  of  us  so 
fond  of  doing,  he  frequently  pursued  a  train  of  thought 
like  this :  "  I  did  not  in  fact  know  that  she  ivas  a  maid  of 
the  sea.  It  is  my  misfortune,  that  all  my  steps  are  haunted 
and  disturbed  by  the  wild  humours  of  her  kindred,  but  it 
is  not  my  crime." 

Making  reflections  like  these,  he  felt  himself  in  some 
measure  strengthened;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  only 
the  more  entertained  a  feeling  of  ill-humour  against  Un- 
dine, almost  amounting  to  malevolence.  He  cast  upon 
her  glances  of  fretfulness  and  ill-nature,  and  the  unhappy 
wife  but  too  well  understood  their  meaning. 

One  day,  grieved  by  this  unkindness,  as  well  as  exhausted 
by  her  continual  exertions  to  foil  the  artifices  of  Kühleborn, 
while  rocked  and  soothed  by  the  gentle  motion  of  the  bark, 


96 

she  toward  evening  fell  into  a  deep  slumber.  But  hardly 
had  she  closed  her  eyes,  when  every  person  in  the  boat,  in 
whatever  direction  he  might  look  on  the  water,  saw  the 
head  of  a  man,  beyond  imagination  frightful  :  each  head 
rose  out  of  the  waves,  not  like  that  of  a  person  swimming, 
but  quite  perpendicular,  as  if  firmly  fastened  to  the  watery 
mirror,  and  still  moving  on  with  the  progress  of  the  bark. 
Every  one  wished  to  show  to  his  companion  what  terrified 
himself,  and  each  perceived  the  same  expression  of  horror 
on  the  face  of  the  other,  only  his  hand  and  eye  were 
directed  to  a  different  quarter,  as  if  to  a  point  where  the 
monster,  half  laughing  and  half  threatening,  rose  opposite 
to  himself. 

When,  however,  they  wished  to  make  one  another 
understand  the  sight,  and  all  cried  out,  "  Look  there ! " 
"  No,  there !  "  the  frightful  heads  all  became  visible  to 
each,  and  the  whole  river  around  the  boat  swarmed  with 
faces  of  the  most  horrible  expression.  All  raised  a  scream 
of  terror  at  the  sight,  and  Undine  started  from  sleep.  The 
moment  she  opened  her  eyes  upon  the  mad  group,  the 
deformed  visages  disappeared.  But  Huldbrand  was  made 
furious  by  the  frequent  recurrence  of  these  hideous  visions. 
He  would  have  burst  out  in  wild  imprecations,  had  not 
Undine,  with  the  most  submissive  air,  and  in  the  gentlest 
tone  of  supplication,  thus  entreated  him : 

"  For  God's  sake,  my  husband,  do  not  express  displeas- 
ure against  me  here,  —  we  are  on  the  water." 

The  knight  was  silent  and  sat  down,  absorbed  in  a  pro- 
found reverie.  Undine  whispered  in  his  ear  :  "  Would 
it  not  be  better,  my  love,  to  give  up  this  foolish  voyage, 
and  return  to  Castle  Ringstetten  in  peace  ? " 

But  Huldbrand  murmured  in  a  voice  expressive  of  the 
embittered  state  of  his  mind :  "  So  I  must  become  a 
prisoner  in  my  own  castle  ?  and  not  be  allowed  to  breathe 
a  moment  but  while  the  fountain  is  covered  ?  Would  to 
Heaven  that  our  frantic  union " 

At  these  fatal  words,  Undine  pressed  her  fair  hand  on 
his  lips  with  the  most  touching  tenderness.  He  said  no 
more,  but,  assuming  an  air  of  composure,  pondered  on  all 
that  Undine  had  lately  warned  him  to  avoid. 

Bertalda,  meanwhile,  had  given   herself  up  to  a  crowd 


97 

of  wild  and  wandering  thoughts.  Of  undine's  origin  she 
knew  a  good  deal,  but  not  the  whole,  and  the  terrible 
Kühleborn  had,  more  especially,  remained  to  her  an  awful 
and  yet  in  every  view  an  impenetrable  mystery  ;  never, 
indeed,  had  she  once  beard  his  name.  Musing  upon  this 
series  of  wonders,  she  unclasped,  without  being  fully 
conscious  of  what  she  was  doing,  a  gold  necklace,  which 
Huldbrand,  on  one  of  the  preceding  days  of  their  passage, 
had  bought  for  her  of  a  travelling  trader;  and  she  was 
now  letting  it  swing  in  sport  just  over  the  surface  of  the 
stream,  while,  in  her  dreamy  mood,  she  enjoyed  the  bright 
reflection  it  threw  on  the  water,  so  cjear  beneath  the  glow 
of  evening.  That  instant,  a  huge  hand  flashed  suddenly 
up  from  the  Danube,  seized  the  necklace  in  its  grasp,  and 
vanished  with  it  beneath  the  flood.  Bertalda  shrieked 
aloud,  and  a  laugh  of  mockery  and  contempt  came  pealing 
up  from  the  depth  of  the  river. 

The  knight  could  now  restrain  his  wrath  no  longer.  He 
started  up,  gazed  fiercely  upon  the  deep,  poured  forth  a 
volley  of  reproaches,  heaped  curses  upon  all  who  inter- 
fered with  his  connection  or  troubled  his  life,  and  dared 
them  all,  water-spirits  or  mermaids,  to  come  within  the 
sweep  of  his  sword. 

Bertalda,  meantime,  wept  for  the  loss  of  the  ornament 
so  very  dear  to  her  heart,  and  her  tears  were  to  Huldbrand 
as  oil  poured  upon  the  flame  of  his  fury  ;  while  Undine 
held  her  hand  over  the  side  of  the  boat,  dipping  it  in  the 
waves,  softly  murmuring  to  herself,  and  only  at  times 
interrupting  her  strange  mysterious  whisper,  when  she 
addressed  her  husband  in  a  voice  of  entreaty  : 

"  Do  not  reprove  me  here,  my  dear  Huldbrand  ;  throw 
whatever  blame  upon  others  you  will,  but  me,  show  me 
no  unkindness  here.  Surely  you  know  the  reason!" 
And,  in  truth,  though  his  tongue  was  trembling  with  excess 
of  passion,  he  with  strong  effort  kept  himself  from  articu- 
lating a  single  word  against  her. 

She  then  brought  up  in  her  wet  hand,  which  she  had 
been  holding  under  the  waves,  a  coral  necklace  of  such 
exquisite  beauty,  such  sparkling  brilliancy,  as  dazzled  the 
eyes  of  all  who  beheld  it.  "  Take  this,"  said  she,  holding 
it  out  with  affectionate  sweetness  to  Bertalda  ;  "  I  have 
9 


98 

ordered  it  to^  be  brought,  to  make   some  amends  for  your 
loss,  and  do  not,  be  troubled  any  more. "poor  ohilcL^ 

But  the  knight  rushed  between  them,  and,  snatching 
the  beautiful  ornament  out  of  Undine's  hand,  hurled  it 
back  into  the  flood,  and  in  a  flame  of  rage  exclaimed  : 
"  So  then,  you  have  a  connexion  with  them  forever?  In 
the  name  of  all  witches  and  enchanters,  go  and  remain 
among  them  with  your  presents,  you  sorceress,  and  leave 
us  human  beings  in  peace  ! " 

But  poor  Undine,  with  a  look  of  mute  amazement  and 
eyes  streaming  with  tears,  gazed  on  him,  her  hand  still 
stretched  out,  just  as  it  was  when  she  had  so  kindly  offered 
her  brilliant  gift  to  Bertalda.  She  then  began  to  weep 
with  more  and  more  of  impassioned  anguish,  like  a  tender 
child,  all  innocence  and  very  bitterly  grieved.  At  last 
she  said,  in  a  tone  of  voice  the  most  faint  and  affecting  : 

"  Alas,  dear  friend,  all  is  over  now,  — farewell !  They 
shall  do  you  no  harm ;  only  remain  true,  that  I  may  keep 
them  from  you.  But  I,  alas,  must  go  away,  I  must  go 
away,  even  in  this  early  dawn  of  youth  and  bliss.  O  woe, 
woe,  what  have  you  done  !     O  woe,  woe  !  " 

And  she  vanished  over  the  side  of  the  boat. — Whether 
she  plunged  into  the  stream,  or  whether,  like  water  melting 
into  water,  she  flowed  away  with  it,  they  knew  not,  her 
disappearance  so  much  resembled  both  united,  and  neither 
by  itself.  But  she  was  gone,  gliding  on  with  the  Danube, 
instantly  and  completely;  only  little  waves  were  yet  whis- 
pering and  sobbing  around  the  boat,  and  they  seemed 
almost  distinctly  to  say :  "  O  woe,  woe !  Ah,  remain 
true  !     O  woe  !  " 

But  Huldbrand,  in  a  passion  of  burning  tears,  threw 
himself  upon  the  deck  of  the  bark,  and  a  deep  swoon  soon 
wrapped  the  wretched  man  in  a  blessed  forgetfulness  of 
misery. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


WHAT  FURTHER  HAPPENED  TO  HULDBRAND. 


The  brief  period  of  our  mourning, — ought  we  to  view 
it  as  a  misfortune,  or  as  a  blessing  ?  I  mean  that  deep 
mourning  of  the  heart,  which  gushes  up  from  the  very- 
well-springs  of  our  being ;  that  mourning,  which  becomes 
so  perfectly  one  with  the  lost  object  of  our  affection,  that 
this  even  ceases  to  be  a  lost  thing  to  the  sorrowing  heart ; 
and  which  desires  to  make  the  whole  life  a  holy  office 
dedicated  to  the  image  of  the  departed,  until  we  too  pass 
that  boundary  which  separates  it  from  our  view. 

Some  men  there  are,  indeed,  who  have  this  profound 
tenderness  of  spirit,  and  who  thus  consecrate  their  affections 
to  the  memory  of  the  departed  ;  but  still  their  mourning 
softens  into  an  emotion  of  gentle  melancholy,  having  none 
of  the  intenseness  of  the  first  agony  of  separation.  Other 
and  foreign  images  intervene,  and  impress  themselves  upon 
the  mind ;  we  learn  at  last  the  transitory  nature  of  every 
thing  earthly,  even  from  that  of  our  affliction  ;  and  I  cannot 
therefore  but  view  it  as  a  misfortune,  that  the  period  of 
our  mourning  is  so  brief. 

The  lord  of  Ringstetten  learnt  the  truth  of  this  by  ex- 
perience ;  but  whether  he  derived  any  advantage  from  the 
knowledge,  we  shall  discover  in  the  sequel  of  this  history. 
At  first,  he  could  do  nothing  but  weep,  —  weep  as  bitterly 
as  the  poor  amiable  Undine  had  wept,  when  he  snatched 
out  of  her  hand  that  brilliant  ornament,  with  which  she  so 
beautifully  wished  to  make  amends  for  Bertalda's  loss. 
And  then  he  stretched  his  hand  out  as  she  had  done,  and 


100 

wept  again  like  her  with  renewed  violence.  He  cherished 
a  secret  hope,  that  even  the  springs  of  life  would  at  last 
hecome  exhausted  by  weeping  ;  and  when  we  have  been 
severely  afflicted,  has  not  a  similar  thought  passed  through 
the  minds  of  many  of  us  with  a  painful  pleasure?  Bertal- 
da  wept  with  him,  and  they  lived  together  a  long  while  at 
Castle  Ringstetten  in  undisturbed  quiet,  honouring  the 
memory  of  Undine,  and  having  almost  wholly  forgotten 
their  former  attachment. 

Owing  to  this  tender  remembrance  of  Huldbrand,  and 
to  encourage  him  in  conduct  so  exemplary,  the  good  Un- 
dine, about  this  time,  often  visited  his  dreams  ;  she  soothed 
him  with  soft  and  affectionate  caresses,  and  then  went 
away  again,  weeping  in  silence,  so  that  when  he  awoke, 
he  sometimes  knew  not  how  his  cheeks  came  to  be  so  wet, 
—  whether  it  was  caused  by  her  tears,  or  only  by  his  own. 

But  as  time  advanced,  these  visions  became  less  frequent, 
and  the  severity  of  the  knight's  sorrow  was  softened  ;  still 
he  might  never  while  he  lived,  it  may  be,  have  entertained 
any  other  wish  than  thus  to  think  of  Undine  in  silence, 
and  to  speak  of  her  in  conversation,  had  not  the  old  fisher- 
man arrived  unexpectedly  at  the  castle,  and  earnestly  in- 
sisted on  Bertalda's  returning  with  him,  as  his  child.  He 
had  received  information  of  Undine's  disappearance,  and 
he  was  not  willing  to  allow  Bertalda  to  continue  longer  at 
the  castle  with  the  unmarried  lord.  "For,"  said  he, 
"  whether  my  daughter  loves  me  or  not,  is  at  present  what 
I  care  not  to  know  ;  but  her  good  name  is  at  stake,  and 
where  that  commands  or  forbids,  not  a  word  more  need  be 
said." 

This  resolution  of  the  old  fisherman,  and  the  fearful 
solitude,  that,  on  Bertalda's  departure,  threatened  to 
oppress  the  knight  in  every  hall  and  passage  of  the  deserted 
castle,  brought  a  circumstance  into  distinct  consciousness, 
which,  owing  to  his  sorrow  for  Undine,  had  of  late  been 
slumbering  and  completely  forgotten,  —  I  mean  his  attach- 
ment to  the  fair  Bertalda ;  and  this  he  made  known  to  her 
father. 

The  fisherman  had  many  objections  to  make  to  the  pro- 
posed marriage.  The  old  man  had  loved  Undine  with 
exceeding  tenderness,  and  it  was  a  doubtful  conclusion  to 


101 

his  mind,  that  the  mere  disappearance  of  his  beloved  child 
could  be  properly  viewed  as  her  death.  But  were  it  even 
granted,  that  her  corse  were  lying  stiff  and  cold  at  the 
bottom  of  the  Danube,  or  swept  away  by  the  current  to 
the  ocean,  still  Bertalda  would  not  be  guiltless  in  her  death, 
and  it  would  be  wrong  for  her  to  step  into  the  place  of  the 
poor  banished  wife.  The  fisherman,  however,  had  felt  a 
strong  regard  also  for  the  knight:  this,  and  the  entreaties 
of  his  daughter,  who  had  become  much  more  gentle  and 
respectful,  as  well  as  her  tears  for  Undine,  all  exerted  their 
influence ;  and  he  seems  to  have  been  forced  at  last  to 
give  up  his  reluctance,  for  he  remained  at  the  castle  with- 
out objection,  and  a  courier  was  sent  off  express  to  father 
Heilmann,  who  in  former  and  happier  days  had  united 
Undine  and  Huldbrand,  requesting  him  to  come  and  per- 
form the  ceremony  at  the  knight's  second  marriage. 

But  the  holy  man  had  hardly  read  through  the  letter 
from  the  lord  of  Ringstetten,  ere  he  set  out  upon  the  jour- 
ney, and  made  much  greater  dispatch  on  his  way  to  the 
castle,  than  the  messenger  from  there  had  made  in  reach- 
ing him.  Whenever  his  breath  failed  him  in  his  rapid  pro- 
gress, or  his  old  limbs  ached  with  fatigue,  he  would  say  to 
himself: 

"  Perhaps  I  may  still  be  in  season  to  prevent  the  com- 
mission of  a  crime  ;  then  sink  not,  weak  and  withered 
body,  before  I  arrive  at  the  end  of  my  journey  !  "  And 
with  renewed  vigour  he  pressed  forward,  hurrying  on  with- 
out rest  or  repose,  until,  late  one  evening,  he  entered  the 
embowered  court-yard  of  Castle  Ringstetten. 

The  betrothed  pair  were  sitting  arm  in  arm  under  the 
trees,  and  the  aged  fisherman  in  a  thoughtful  mood  sat 
near  them.  The  moment  they  saw  father  Heilmann,  they 
rose  with  a  spring  of  joy,  and  pressed  round  him  with 
looks,  tones,  and  expressions  of  cordial  welcome.  But 
he,  in  the  fewest  words  possible,  urged  the  bridegroom  to 
accompany  him  into  the  castle  ;  and  wThen  Huldbrand 
stood  mute  with  surprise,  and  delayed  complying  with  his 
earnest  request,  the  pious  priest  said  to  him  : 

"  Why  do  I  then  defer  speaking,  my  lord  of  Ring- 
stetten, until  I  can  address  you  in  private  ?  There  is 
no  occasion  for  the  delay  of  a  moment.  What  I  have 
9* 


102 

to  say,  as  much  concerns  Berlakla  and  the  fisherman 
as  yourself;  and  what  we  cannot  avoid  hearing  at  some 
time,  it  is  best  to  hear  as  soon  as  possible.  Are  you  then 
so  very  certain,  knight  Huldbrand,  that  your  first  wife  is 
actually  dead  ?  It  hardly  appears  so  to  me.  I  will  say 
nothing,  indeed,  of  the  mysterious  situation  in  which  she 
may  be  now  existing  ;  in  truth,  I  know  nothing  of  it  with 
certainty.  But  that  she  was  a  most  devoted  and  faithful 
wife,  so  much  is  beyond  all  dispute.  And  for  fourteen 
nights  past,  she  has  appeared  to  me  in  a  dream,  standing 
at  my  bed-side,  wringing  her  tender  hands  in  anguish,  and 
imploring  me  with  deep  sighs  :  '  Ah,  prevent  him,  dear 
father  !  I  am  still  living  !  Ah  !  save  his  life  !  Ah  !  save 
his  soul  ! ' 

"What  this  vision  of  the  night  could  mean,  I  was  at 
first  unable  to  divine;  then  came  your  messenger,  and  I 
have  now  hastened  hither,  not  to  unite,  but,  as  I  hope,  to 
separate,  what  ought  not  to  be  joined  together.  Leave 
her,  Huldbrand  !  Leave  him,  Bertalda  !  He  still  belongs 
to  another ;  and  do  you  not  see  on  his  pale  cheek  the 
traces  of  that  grief,  which  the  disappearance  of  his  wife 
has  produced  there  ?  That  is  not  the  look  of  a  bride- 
groom, and  the  spirit  breathes  the  presage  on  my  soul  : 
'  If  you  do  not  leave  him,  you  will  never,  never  be  happy.J " 

The  three  felt  in  their  inmost  hearts,  that  father  Heil- 
mann  spoke  the  truth  ;  but  still  they  affected  not  to  believe 
him,  or  they  strove  rather  to  resist  their  conviction.  Even 
the  old  fisherman  had  become  so  infatuated,  that  he  con- 
ceived the  marriage  to  be  now  indispensable,  as  they  had 
so  often,  during  the  time  he  had  been  with  them,  mutually 
agreed  to  the  arrangement.  They  all,  therefore,  with  a 
determined  and  gloomy  eagerness,  struggled  against  the 
representations  and  warnings  of  the  holy  man,  until,  shak- 
ing his  head  and  oppressed  with  sorrow,  he  finally  quitted 
the  castle,  not  choosing  to  accept  their  offered  shelter  even 
for  a  single  night,  or  indeed  so  much  as  to  taste  a  morsel  of 
the  refreshment  they  brought  him.  Huldbrand  persuaded 
himself,  however,  that  the  priest  was  a  mere  visionary  or 
fanatic,  and  sent  at  day-break  to  a  monk  of  the  nearest 
monastery,  who,  without  scruple,  promised  to  perform  the 
ceremony  in  a  kw  days. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


THE  KNIGHT'S  DREAM. 


It  was  at  the  earliest  moment  of  dawn,  when  night 
begins  faintly  to  brighten  into  morning  twilight,  that  Huld- 
brand  was  lying  on  his  couch,  half  waking  and  half  sleep- 
ing. Whenever  he  attempted  to  compose  himself  to 
sleep,  he  was  seized  with  an  undefined  terror,  that  made 
him  shrink  back  from  the  enjoyment,  as  if  his  slumber 
were  crowded  with  spectres.  But  whenever  he  made  an 
effort  to  rouse  himself,  the  wings  of  a  swan  seemed  to  be 
w7aving  around  him,  and  soothing  him  with  the  music  of 
their  motion,  and  thus  in  a  soft  delusion  of  the  senses  he 
sunk  back  into  his  stale  of  imperfect  repose. 

At  last,  however,  he  must  have  fallen  perfectly  asleep; 
for,  while  the  sound  of  the  swan-wings  was  murmuring 
around  him,  he  seemed  to  be  lifted  by  their  regular  strokes, 
and  to  be  wafted  far  away  over  land  and  sea,  and  still  their 
music  swelled  on  his  ear  most  sweetly.  "  The  music  of 
the  swan  !  the  song  of  the  swan !  "  he  could  not  but 
repeat  to  himself  every  moment ;  "  is  it  not  a  sure  fore- 
boding of  death  ?  "  Probably,  however,  it  had  yet  another 
meaning.  All  at  once  he  seemed  to  be  hovering  over 
the  Mediterranean  Sea.  A  swan  with  her  loud  melody 
sung  in  his  ear,  that  this  was  the  Mediterranean  Sea ;  and 
while  he  was  looking  down  upon  the  waves,  they  became 
transparent  as  crystal,  so  that  he  could  see  through  them 
to  the  very  bottom. 

At  this  a  thrill  of  delight  shot  through  him,  for  he 
could  see  Undine,  where  she  was  sitting  beneath  the  clear 


104 

domes  of  crystal.  It  is  true,  she  was  weeping  very 
bitterly,  and  such  was  the  excess  of  her  grief,  that  she 
bore  only  a  faint  resemblance  to  the  bright  and  joyous 
being  she  had  been,  during  those  happy  days  they  had 
lived  together  at  Castle  Ringstetten,  both  on  their  arrival 
and  afterward,  a  short  time  before  they  set  out  upon  their 
fatal  passage  down  the  Danube.  The  knight  could  not 
avoid  dwelling  upon  all  this  with  deep  emotion,  but  it  did 
not  appear  that  Undine  was  aware  of  his  presence. 

Kühleborn  had  meanwhile  approached  her,  and  was 
about  to  reprove  her  for  weeping,  when  she  assumed  the 
boldness  of  superiority,  and  looked  upon  him  with  an  air 
so  dignified  and  commanding,  that  he  was  well-nigh  ter- 
rified and  confounded  by  it. 

"  Although  I  too  now  dwell  here  beneath  the  waters," 
said  she,  "  yet  I  have  brought  my  soul  with  me  ;  and 
therefore  I  may  well  be  allowed  to  weep,  little  as  you  may 
conceive  the  meaning  of  such  tears.  They  are  even  a 
blessed  privilege,  as  eveiy  thing  is  such  a  privilege,  to  one 
inspired  with  the  true  soul." 

He  shook  his  head  with  disbelief  of  what  she  said,  and, 
after  musing  a  moment  or  two,  replied  :  "  And  yet, 
niece,  you  are  subject  to  our  laws  of  the  element,  as  a 
being  of  the  same  nature  with  ourselves ;  and,  should  he 
prove  unfaithful  to  you  and  marry  again,  you  are  obliged 
to  take  away  his  life." 

"  He  remains  a  wTidower  to  this  very  hour,"  replied 
Undine,  te  and  he  still  loves  me  with  the  passion  of  a 
sorrowful  heart." 

"  He  is,  however,  a  bridegroom  withal,"  said  Kühle- 
born, with  a  chuckle  of  scorn  ;  "  and  let  only  a  few  days 
wear  away,  and  anon  comes  the  priest  with  his  nuptial 
blessing,  and  then  you  must  go  up  and  execute  your  share 
of  the  business,  the  death  of  the  husband  with  two 
wives." 

"I  have  not  the  power,"  returned  Undine,  with  a  smile. 
"  Do  you  not  remember  ?  I  have  sealed  up  the  fountain 
securely,  not  only  against  myself  but  all  of  the  same 
race." 

"  Still,  should  he  leave  his  castle,"  said  Kühleborn, 
"  or  should  he  once  allow  the  fountain  to  be  uncovered, 


105 

what  then  ?  for  doubtless  he  thinks  there  is  no  great 
murder  in  such  trifles." 

"  For  that  very  reason,"  said  Undine,  still  smiling  amid 
her  tears,  "for  that  very  reason  he  is  this  moment  hover- 
ing in  spirit^over  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  and  dreaming  of 
this  voice  of  warning  which  our  conversation  affords  him. 
It  has  been  with  a  view  to  give  him  this  warning,  that  I 
have  been  studious  in  disposing  the  whole  vision." 

That  instant  Kühleborn,  inflamed  with  rage,  looked  up 
at  the  knight,  wrathfully  threatened  him,  stamped  upon 
the  ground,  and  then,  swift  as  the  passion  that  possessed 
him,  sprang  up  from  beneath  the  waves.  He  seemed  to 
swell  in  his  fury  to  the  size  of  a  whale.  Again  the  swans 
began  to  sing,  to  wave  their  wings,  to  fly  ;  the  knight 
seemed  to  be  soaring  away  over  mountains  and  streams, 
and  at  last  to  alight  at  Castle  Ringstetten,  where  he  awoke 
upon  his  couch. 

Upon  his  couch  he  actually  did  awake,  and  his  attend- 
ant, entering  at  the  same  moment,  informed  him,  that 
father  Heilmann  was  still  lingering  in  the  neighbourhood  ; 
that  he  had,  the  evening  before,  met  with  him  in  the  forest, 
where  he  was  sheltering  himself  under  a  booth,  which  he 
had  formed  by  interweaving  the  branches  of  trees,  and 
covering  them  with  moss  and  fine  brush-wood  ;  and  that 
to  the  question,  'What  he  was  doing  there,  since  he  had 
so  firmly  refused  to  perform  the  nuptial  ceremony  ? '  his 
answer  was : 

"  There  are  yet  other  ceremonies  to  perform,  beside 
those  at  the  altar  of  marriage;  and  though  I  did  not 
come  to  officiate  at  the  wedding,  I  can  still  officiate  at  a 
very  different  solemnity.  All  things  have  their  season, 
and  for  this  we  must  wait.  Besides,  marrying  and  mourn- 
ing are  by  no  means  so  very  far  from  each  other,  as  every 
one,  not  wilfully  blinded,  must  know  full  well." 

In  consequence  of  these  words  and  of  his  dream,  the 
knight  made  a  variety  of  reflections,  some  wild  and  some 
not  unmixed  with  alarm.  But  a  man  is  apt  to  consider  it 
very  disagreeable  to  give  over  an  affair,  which  he  has  once 
settled  in  his  mind  as  certain,  and  therefore  all  went  on 
just  according  to  the  old  arrangement. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


HOW  THE  KNIGHT  HTTLDBRAND  SOLEMNIZED  HIS  MARRIAGE. 


Should  I  relate  to  you  the  events  of  the  marriage 
festival  at  Castle  Ringstetten,  it  would  seem  as  if  you 
were  viewing  a  crowded  assemblage  of  bright  and  joyous 
things,  but  all  overspread  with  a  black  mourning  crape, 
through  whose  darkening  veil  the  whole  splendour  appeared 
less  to  resemble  pleasure,  than  a  mockery  of  the  nothing- 
ness of  all  earthly  joys. 

It  was  not  because  some  spectral  confusion  disturbed 
the  scene  of  festivity  ;  for  the  castle,  as  we  well  know, 
had  been  secured  against  the  mischief  and  menaces  of 
water-spirits.  But  the  knight,  the  fisherman,  and  all 
the  guests,  were  unable  to  banish  the  feeling,  that  the 
chief  personage  of  the  feast  was  still  wanting,  and  that 
this  chief  personage  could  be  no  other  than  the  amiable 
Undine,  so  dear  to  them  all. 

Whenever  a  door  was  heard  to  open,  all  eyes  were 
involuntarily  turned  in  that  direction  ;  and  if  it  was  noth- 
ing but  the  steward  with  new  dishes,  or  the  cup-bearer 
with  a  supply  of  wine  of  higher  flavour  than  the  last, 
they  again  looked  down  in  sadness  and  disappointment ; 
and  the  flashes  of  wit  and  merriment  which  had  been 
passing  at  times  from  one  to  another,  ceased,  and  were 
succeeded  by  tears  of  mournful  remembrance. 

The  bride  was  the  least  thoughtful  of  the  company, 
and  therefore  the  most  happy  ;  but  even  she,  occasionally, 
found  it  difficult  to  realize  the  fact,  that  she  was  sitting  at 
the  head  of  the  table,  wearing  a  green  garland  and  gold- 


107 

embroidered  garments,  while  Undine  was  lying  a  corse, 
stiff  and  cold,  at  the  bottom  of  the  Danube,  or  carried 
out  by  the  current  into  the  ocean.  For,  ever  since  her 
father  had  suggested  something  of  this  sort,  his  words 
were  continually  sounding  in  her  ear;  and  this  day,  in 
particular,  they  would  neither  fade  from  her  memory  nor 
give  over  their  intrusion. 

Evening  had  scarcely  arrived,  when  the  company  re- 
turned to  their  homes ;  not  dismissed  by  the  impatience 
of  the  bridegroom,  as  wedding  parties  are  sometimes 
broken  up,  but  constrained  solely  by  painful  associations, 
joyless  melancholy,  and  forebodings  of  evil.  Bertalda 
retired  with  her  maidens,  and  the  knight  with  his  atten- 
dants, to  undress  ;  but  these  young  bridemaids  and  bride- 
men,  such  was  the  gloomy  tenor  of  this  festival,  made  no 
attempt  to  amuse  bride  or  bridegroom  with  the  usual 
pleasantry  and   frolicsome  good-humour  of  the  occasion. 

Bertalda  wished  to  awake  a  livelier  spirit :  she  ordered 
them  to  spread  before  her  a  brilliant  set  of  jewels,  a  present 
from  Huldbrand,  together  with  rich  apparel  and  veils,  that 
she  might  select  from  among  them  the  brightest  and  most 
beautiful  for  her  dress  in  the  morning.  The  attendants 
eagerly  seized  this  opportunity  of  gratifying  both  their 
young  mistress  and  themselves ;  and  while,  with  many 
wishes  and  promises  of  happiness,  they  indulged  their  love 
of  talkingj  and  declared  how  charmed  they  were  with  all 
they  saw,  they  failed  not  to  extol  the  beauty  of  the 
new-married  lady  with  their  liveliest  eloquence.  They 
became  more  and  more  absorbed  in  this  admiration  and 
flattery,  until  Bertalda  at  last,  looking  in  a  mirror,  said 
with  a  sigh : 

"  Ah,  but  do  you  not  see  plainly  how  freckled  I  am 
growing  ?     Look  here  on  the  side  of  my  neck." 

They  looked  at  the  place,  and  found  the  freckles,  indeed, 
as  their  fair  mistress  had  said  ;  but  they  called  them  mere 
beauty-spots,  the  faintest  touches  of  the  sun,  such  as 
would  only  heighten  the  whiteness  of  her  delicate 
complexion.  Bertalda  shook  her  head,  and  still  viewed 
them  as  a  blemish. 

"  And  I  could  remove  them,"  she  said  at  last,  sighing. 
"  But  the  castle-fountain  is  covered,  from  which  I  formerly 


108 

used  to  have  that  precious  water,  so  purifying  to  the  skin. 
O,  had  I  this  evening  only  a  single  flagon  of  it !  " 

"  Is  that  all  ?"  cried  an  alert  waiting-maid,  laughing,  as 
she  glided  out  of  the  apartment. 

"  She  will  not  be  so  frantic,"  said  Bertalda,  in  a  voice 
of  inquiry  and  agreeably  surprised,  "  as  to  cause  the 
stone-cover  of  the  fountain  to  be  taken  off  this  very 
evening?"  That  instant  they  heard  the  tread  of  men 
already  passing  along  the  court-yard,  and  could  see  from 
the  window  where  the  damsel,  so  kindly  officious,  was 
leading  them  directly  up  to  the  fountain,  and  that  they 
carried  levers  and  other  instruments  on  their  shoulders. 

"  It  is  certainly  my  will,"  said  Bertalda  with  a  smile, 
"  if  it  does  not  take  them  too  long."  And,  charmed  with 
the  conviction,  that  the  merest  hint  from  her  was  now 
sufficient  to  accomplish,  what  had  formerly  been  refused 
with  a  painful  reproof,  she  looked  down  upon  their  opera- 
tions in  the  bright  moonlight  of  the  castle  court. 

The  men  seized  the  enormous  stone,  as  if  they  must 
exert  all  their  strength  in  raising  it;  some  one  of  their 
number  indeed  would  occasionally  sigh,  when  he  recol- 
lected they  were  destroying  the  work  of  their  former 
beloved  mistress.  Their  labour,  however,  was  much 
lighter  than  they  had  expected.  It  seemed  as  if  some 
power,  from  within  the  fountain  itself,  aided  them  in  rais- 
ing the  stone. 

"  It  certainly  appears,"  said  the  workmen  to  one  anoth- 
er in  astonishment,  "  as  if  the  confined  water  were  become 
a  jet  or  spouting  fountain."  And  the  stone  rose  more  and 
more,  and,  almost  without  the  assistance  of  the  work-peo- 
ple, rolled  slowly  away  upon  the  pavement  with  a  hollow 
sound.  But  an  appearance,  from  the  opening  of  the 
fountain,  filled  them  with  awe,  as  it  rose  like  a  white  col- 
umn of  water  :  at  first  they  imagined  it  to  be  a  spouting 
fountain  in  good  earnest,  until  they  perceived  the  rising 
form  to  be  a  pale  female,  veiled  in  white.  She  wept  bit- 
terly, raised  her  hands  above  her  head,  and  wrung  them 
with  anguish,  as  with  slow  and  solemn  step  she  moved 
toward  the  castle.  The  servants  shrunk  back,  and  fled 
from  the  fountain  ;  while  the  bride,  pale  and  motionless 
with  horror,  stood  with   her   maidens  at  the   window  from 


109 

which  she  had  been  viewing  what  passed  without. 
When  the  figure  had  now  come  close  beneath  their  room, 
it  looked  up  to  them  and  uttered  the  low  moaning  of  misery, 
and  Bertalda  thought  she  recognized  through  the  veil  the 
pale  features  of  Undine.  But  the  mourning  form  passed 
on  as  sad,  reluctant,  and  lingering,  as  if  going  to  the 
place  of  execution.  Bertalda  screamed  to  her  maids 
to  call  the  knight ;  not  one  of  them  dared  to  stir  from  her 
place  ;  and  even  the  bride  herself  became  again  mute,  as 
if  trembling  at  the  sound  of  her  own  voice. 

While  they  continued  standing  at  the  window,  over- 
powered with  terror  and  motionless  as  statues,  the  mys- 
terious wanderer  entered  the  castle,  ascended  the  well- 
known  stairs,  and  traversed  the  well-known  halls,  her 
tears  ever  flowing  in  silent  woe.  Alas,  with  what  different 
emotions  had  she  once  wandered  through  these  rooms ! 

The  knight  had  in  the  mean  time  dismissed  his  attend- 
ants. Half  undressed  and  in  deep  dejection,  he  was 
standing  before  a  large  mirror;  a  wax  taper  burned  dimly 
beside  him.  At  this  moment  he  heard  a  low  tapping  at 
his  door,  the  least  perceptible  touch  of  a  finger.  Undine 
had  formerly  tapped  in  this  way,  when  she  wished  to 
amuse  him  with  her  endearing  sportiveness. 

"  It  is  all  illusion  !  a  mere  freak  of  fancy  !  "  said  he  to 
himself.     "  I  must  to  my  nuptial  bed." 

"  You  must,  indeed,  but  to  a  cold  one  ! "  he  heard  a 
voice,  choked  with  sobs,  repeat  from  without ;  and  then 
he  saw  in  the  mirror,  that  the  door  of  his  room  was 
slowly,  slowly  opened,  and  the  white  wanderer  entered, 
and  gently  secured  it  behind  her. 

"  They  have  opened  the  fountain,"  said  she  in  a  low 
tone,  "and  now  I  am  here  and  you  must  die." 

He  felt  in  the  shock  and  death-pause  of  his  heart,  that 
this  must  indeed  be  his  doom ;  but,  covering  his  eyes 
with  his  hands,  he  cried :  "  Do  not,  in  my  death-hour, 
do  not  drive  me  to  distraction  with  terror.  If  you  have  a 
visage  of  horror  behind  that  veil,  do  not  lift  it !  Take  my 
life,  but  let  me  not  see  you." 

"  Alas  !  "  replied  the  wanderer,  "  will  you  not  then  look 
upon  me  once  more  ?     I  am  as  beautiful  nowT  as  when  you 
wooed  me  on  the  peninsula  !  " 
10 


110 

"  O  would  to  God  it  were  so  ! "  sighed  Huldbrand,  "  and 
that  I  might  die  by  a  kiss  from  you  !  " 

"  Most  willingly  do  I  grant  your  wish,  my  dearest  love," 
said  she.  And  as  she  threw  back  her  veil,  her  dear  face 
met  his  view,  smiling  with  celestial  beauty.  Trembling 
with  love  and  the  awe  of  approaching  death,  the  knight 
stooped  to  give  and  receive  the  embrace.  She  kissed 
him  with  the  holy  kiss  of  Heaven ;  but  she  relaxed  not 
her  hold,  pressing  him  more  passionately  in  her  arms,  and 
weeping  as  if  she  would  weep  away  her  soul.  Tears 
rushed  into  the  knight's  eyes,  while  a  thrill  both  of  bliss 
and  agony  shot  through  his  heart,  until  he  at  last  expired, 
sinking  softly  back  from  her  fair  arms,  and  resting  upon 
the  pillow  of  his  couch,  a  corse. 

"  I  have  wept  him  to  death  !  "  said  she  to  some  domes- 
tics, who  met  her  in  the  ante-chamber ;  and  passing 
through  the  terrified  group,  she  went  slowly  out  and  dis- 
appeared in  the  fountain. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


HOW  THE  KNIGHT  HULDBRAND  WAS  BURIED. 


Father  Heilmann  had  returned  to  the  castle,  as  soon 
as  the  death  of  the  lord  of  Ringstetten  was  made  known 
in  the  neighbourhood ;  and  he  arrived  at  the  very  hour 
when  the  monk,  who  had  married  the  unfortunate  couple, 
was  hurrying  from  the  door,  overcome  with  dismay  and 
horror. 

When  father  Heilmann  was  informed  of  this,  he  replied  : 
"  It  is  all  well ;  and  now  come  the  duties  of  my  office,  in 
which  I  have  no  need  of  an  assistant." 

He  then  began  to  console  the  bride,  now  become  a 
widow,  small  as  was  the  advantage  her  worldly  and  light- 
minded  spirit  derived  from  his  kindness. 

The  old  fisherman,  on  the  other  hand,  though  severely 
afflicted,  was  far  more  resigned  in  regard  to  the  fate  of  his 
son-in-law  and  the  calamity  of  his  daughter ;  and  while 
Bertalda  could  not  refrain  from  accusing  Undine  as  a 
murderess  and  fiendlike  enchantress,  the  old  man  calmly 
said  :  "  The  event,  after  all,  could  not  have  happened 
otherwise.  I  see  nothing  in  it  but  the  judgment  of  God  ; 
and  no  one,  I  am  sure,  could  have  his  heart  more  pierced 
by  the  death  of  Huldbrand,  than  she  who  was  obliged  to 
accomplish  his  doom,  the  poor  forsaken  Undine  ! " 

He  then  assisted  in  arranging  the  funeral  solemnities,  as 
suited  the  rank  of  the  deceased.  The  knight  was  to  be 
interred  in  a  village  church-yard,  in  whose  consecrated 
ground  were  the  graves  of  his  ancestors ;  a  place  which 
they,  as  well  as  himself,  had  endowed  with  rich  privileges 


112 

and  gifts.  His  shield  and  helmet  lay  upon  his  coffin, 
ready  to  be  lowered  with  it  into  the  grave,  for  lord  Huld- 
brand  of  Ringstetten  had  died  the  last  of  his  race  ;  the 
mourners  began  their  sorrowful  march,  lifting  the  melan- 
choly wail  of  their  dirges  amid  the  calm  unclouded 
heaven  ;  father  Heilmann  preceded  the  procession,  bearing 
a  lofty  crucifix,  while  Bertalda  followed  in  her  misery, 
supported  by  her  aged  father. 

While  proceeding  in  this  manner,  they  suddenly  saw, 
in  the  midst  of  the  dark-habited  mourning  females  in  the 
widow's  train,  a  snow-white  figure,  closely  veiled,  and 
wringing  its  hands  in  the  wild  vehemence  of  sorrow. 
Those  next  to  whom  it  moved,  seized  with  a  secret  dread, 
started  back  or  sideways  ;  and  owing  to  their  movements, 
the  others,  next  to  whom  the  white  stranger  now  came, 
were  terrified  still  more,  so  as  to  produce  almost  a  complete 
disarrangement  of  the  funeral  train.  Some  of  the  military 
escort  were  emboldened  to  address  the  figure,  and  attempt 
to  remove  it  from  the  procession,  but  it  seemed  to  vanish 
from  under  their  hands,  and  yet  wras  immediately  seen 
advancing  again,  with  slow  and  solemn  step,  among  the 
followers  of  the  body.  At  last,  in  consequence  of  the 
shrinking  away  of  the  attendants,  it  came  close  behind 
Bertalda.  It  now  moved  so  slowly,  that  the  widow  was 
not  aware  of  its  presence,  and  it  walked  meekly  on  behind, 
neither  suffering  nor  creating  disturbance. 

This  continued  until  they  came  to  the  church-yard, 
where  the  procession  formed  a  circle  round  the  open 
grave.  Then  it  was  that  Bertalda  perceived  her  unbidden 
companion,  and  prompted  half  by  anger  and  half  by  terror, 
she  commanded  her  to  depart  from  the  knight's  place  of 
final  rest.  But  the  veiled  female,  shaking  her  head  with 
a  gentle  refusal,  raised  her  hands  toward  Bertalda,  in  lowly 
supplication,  by  which  she  was  greatly  moved,  and  could  not 
but  remember  with  tears,  how  Undine  had  shown  such 
sweetness  of  spirit  on  the  Danube,  when  she  held  out  to  her 
the  coral  necklace. 

Father  Heilmann  now  motioned  with  his  hand,  and  gave 
order  for  all  to  observe  perfect  stillness,  that  over  the  body, 
whose  mound  was  well-nigh  formed,  they  might  breathe  a 
prayer  of  silent  devotion.  Bertalda  knelt  without  speak- 
ing ;  and  all  knelt,  even  the  grave-diggers  who  had  now 


113 

finished  their  work.  But  when  they  rose  from  this 
breathing  of  the  heart,  the  white  stranger  had  disappeared. 
On  the  spot  where  she  had  kneeled,  a  little  spring,  of 
silver  brightness,  was  gushing  out  from  the  green  turf, 
and  it  kept  swelling  and  flowing  onward  with  a  low  mur- 
mur, till  it  almost  encircled  the  mound  of  the  knight's 
grave ;  it  then  continued  its  course,  and  emptied  itself  into 
a  calm  lake,  which  lay  by  the  side  of  the  consecrated 
ground.  Even  to  this  day,  the  inhabitants  of  the  village 
point  out  the  spring ;  —  and  they  cannot  but  cherish  the 
belief,  that  it  is  the  poor  deserted  Undine,  who  in  this 
manner  still  fondly  encircles  her  beloved  in  her  arms. 


10* 


THE 


VIAL-GENIE  AND  MAD  FARTHING. 


CHAPTER  I 


YOUNG-  GERMAN  ARRIVES   AT  VENICE.       WHO  BID  HIM 
WELCOME  THERE.       A  SPANISH  CAPTAIN 
AND   HIS  VIAL-GENIE. 


It  was  a  fine  evening  of  summer,  when  a  young  German 
merchant  whose  name  was  Richard,  quite  a  wild  and  jovial 
spirit,  entered  Venice,  the  far-famed  commercial  city  of 
Italy.  Just  at  that  period,  owing  to  the  Thirty  Years' 
War,  there  were  continual  disturbances  throughout  Ger- 
many ;  and  in  consequence  of  this  state  of  things,  the 
young  merchant,  glad  to  embrace  the  opportunity  of  enjoy- 
ing himself,  esteemed  it  a  most  fortunate  circumstance, 
that  his  affairs  called  him  for  some  time  to  Italy,  where 
the  tumults  of  war  were  little  felt,  and  where,  as  he  had 
been  informed,  he  would  meet  with  wines  of  the  finest 
flavour,  and  many  of  the  most  delicious  fruits,  not  to  men- 
tion crowds  of  women  of  exquisite  beauty,  of  whom  he 
was  a  passionate  admirer. 

On  this  evening  of  his  arrival,  wishing  to  enjoy  the 
customary  amusement  of  Venice,  he  stepped  aboard  a 
gondola,  and  was  rowed  about  on  the  canals,  which  there 
supply  the  place  of  our  paved  streets.  He  took  great 
pleasure  in  viewing  the  beautiful  houses,  and,  what  were 
much  more  attractive,  the  forms  and  features  of  the 
females,  whom  he  frequently  saw  gazing  from  the  balco- 
nies. At  length,  as  he  came  opposite  a  magnificent 
edifice,  at  whose  windows  appeared  ten  or  twelve  girls  in 
the  bloom  of  beauty,  the  gallant  young  blade  said  to  one 
of  the  gondoliers,  who  were  rowing  his  boat : 


115 

11  Would  to  heaven  I  were  so  happy  as  to  know  those 
beautiful  creatures  up  there  !  —  that  I  were  allowed  to 
speak  only  two  words  to  one  of  them  !  " — 

"Why,"  said  the  gondolier,  "what  can  be  more  easy? 
you  have  only  to  step  ashore,  and  go  boldly  up  to  them. 
Your  two  words  will  keep  you  there  but  a  few  moments." 

But  young  Richard  replied  :  "  You  take  pleasure,  no 
doubt,  in  imposing  upon  strangers,  and  think  you  have 
found  in  me  a  rustic,  who  is  simpleton  enough  to  follow 
your  advice,  and  then  get  laughed  at  above  there  in  the 
palace,  with  perhaps  a  clever  drubbing  into  the  bargain." 

"  Do  not  think,  Sir,  to  teach  me  the  customs  of  this 
country,"  rejoined  the  gondolier.  "  Only  do  as  I  have 
advised  you,  in  case  you  really  wish  to  enjoy  that  pleasure, 
and  if  they  do  not  open  their  beautiful  white  arms  and  bid 
you  welcome,  then  I  am  willing  to  forfeit  my  fare." 

Supposing  the  gondolier  not  to  have  misrepresented 
matters,  this  appeared  to  our  novice  well  worth  the  trying. 
So  he  landed  and  went  up. 

The  bevy  of  girls,  that  appeared  so  charming  to  the 
stranger,  not  only  received  him  with  the  greatest  courtesy, 
but  one  of  the  number,  she  whom  he  considered  the  hand- 
somest of  them,  was  still  more  civil :  she  conducted  him 
to  her  own  room,  where  she  regaled  him  with  cordials  and 
delicacies,  and  even  gave  him  the  welcome  of  many  a  kiss  ; 
nay  more,  he  had  no  single  wish  remaining,  of  which  she 
did  not  grant  him  at  last  the  complete  accomplishment. 
He  could  not  avoid,  every  now  and  then,  thinking  within 
himself:  "I  have  assuredly  reached  the  most  delightful 
and  extraordinary  country  in  the  world :  at  the  same 
time,  however,  I  cannot  be  too  thankful  for  my  attractions 
of  mind,  manners,  and  person,  which  render  me  so  accept- 
able to  these  foreign  ladies  of  quality." 

But  when  he  was  on  the  point  of  departing,  this  beauty 
of  his  required  of  him  the  modest  sum  of  fifty  ducats ; 
and  as  he  seemed  to  be  astonished  at  this  demand,  she 
said^  to  him :  "  Why  pray,  young  gentleman,  do  you 
expect  to  share  the  favours  of  the  fairest  courtesan  in  all 
Venice  for  nothing?  Let  me  advise  you  to  pay  with 
alacrity,  for  he  who  makes  no  agreement  beforehand,  must 
rest  contented  with  whatever  another,  may  ask  him.     But, 


116 

should  you  come  again,  then  mind  and  be  more  prudent, 
and  for  the  same  sum  it  has  cost  you  this  evening,  you  can 
pass  a  whole  week  in  every  kind  of  enjoyment." 

What  severe  mortification  was  this  !  especially  for  one, 
who,  supposing  he  had  made  conquest  of  a  princess, 
discovered  that  she  was  a  mere  woman  of  the  town,  and 
had  tricked  him  too  out  of  so  considerable  a  sum  of  money  ! 
The  young  fellow  showed,  however,  less  indignation  than 
most  men  would  have  done.  Personal  indulgence  seemed 
to  be  more  his  object,  than  distinguished  name  or  excel- 
lence of  character ;  and  so,  after  making  the  payment 
demanded,  he  ordered  his  boatmen  to  proceed  with  him  to 
a  wine-tavern,  where  he  might  drink  away  his  confusion 
and  chagrin. 

Our  German  spark,  having  thus  entered  upon  a  career 
of  dissipation,  failed  not  to  have  a  large  number  of  merry 
companions.  He  went  on  with  his  revels  and  riots  for  a 
considerable  time,  and  among  none  but  convivial  associ- 
ates :  there  was  one  exception,  however,  to  this  class  of 
characters,  and  this  was  a  Spanish  captain,  who  was  pres- 
ent indeed  at  all  the  jollities  of  the  wild  set,  to  which 
young  Richard  had  abandoned  himself,  but  almost  always 
without  deigning  to  waste  a  single  word  among  them,  and 
wearing  a  strong  expression  of  distress  upon  every  feature 
of  his  dark  countenance.  Still  they  were  willing  to  endure 
the  gloom  of  his  presence,  as  he  was  a  person  of  wealth 
and  respectability,  who  made  nothing  of  defraying  the 
expenses  of  the  whole  band  many  evenings  in  succession ; 
and  this  was  an  event  of  no  rare  occurrence. 

Notwithstanding  this  liberal  spirit  in  the  captain,  and 
although  young  Richard  no  more  suffered  himself  to  be 
so  grossly  over-reached,  as  on  the  day  of  his  arrival  at 
Venice,  still  his  money  began  at  length  to  fail,  and  he 
could  not  without  deep  concern  reflect  upon  the  fact,  that 
a  life  so  delightful  must  for  him  soon  come  to  an  end, 
should  he  be  so  prodigal  as  to  lose  all  he  possessed. 

His  companions  perceived  his  melancholy,  and  at  the 
same  time  detected  its  cause,  —  as  they  had  frequently 
witnessed  in  their  circle  occurrences  of  a  like  nature,  — 
and  they  cracked  their  jokes  upon  the  spendthrift,  who, 
though  drained  in  puuse  and  depressed  in  spirit,  could  not 


117 

refrain,  with  the  remnant  of  his  money,  from  tasting  the 
sweet  poison  of  dissolute  living. 

At  this  time  it  was,  that  the  Spaniard  took  him  aside 
one  evening,  and  with  an  air  of  unusual  kindness,  led  him 
into  a  rather  solitary  quarter  of  the  city.  Our  exemplary 
young  gentleman  became  somewhat  alarmed  at  this,  but 
after  a  moment's  reflection  he  said  to  himself:  "My  com- 
panion is  well  aware,  that  I  have  but  little  more  with  me 
to  lose  ;  and  as  to  any  personal  violence,  if  such  be  his 
aim,  he  must  first  hazard  his  own  safety,  which  he  will 
perhaps  value  at  a  rate  too  high  to  seek  an  encounter  of 
that  kind." 

But  the  Spanish  captain,  seating  himself  upon  the  foun- 
dation of  an  old  ruined  building,  pressed  the  young  mer- 
chant to  sit  down  beside  him,  and  began  addressing  him  as 
follows : 

"I  strongly  suspect,  my  dear  young  friend,  that,  owing 
to  your  inexperience,  you  are  in  want  of  precisely  the 
same  power,  which  to  me  is  above  all  measure  a  burden, — 
the  power,  I  mean,  of  procuring  at  any  moment  a  sum  of 
money  to  whatever  amount  you  may  choose,  and  the  abil- 
ity to  continue  doing  so  at  will.  This  power  of  securing 
wealth,  and  many  other  gifts  that  the  world  prizes,  I  am 
willing  to  sell  you  for  a  small  sum  of  money." 

"  But  how  can"  more  money  be  of  any  importance  to 
you,  when  you  wish  to  dispose  of  your  means  of  produ- 
cing it  ?"  asked  Richard. 

"  The  thing  is  embarrassed  with  the  following  condition," 
answered  the  captain.  "  I  know  not  whether  you  are 
acquainted  with  certain  diminutive  creatures,  called  vial- 
genies.  These  manikin  imps  are  little  black  devils  en- 
closed in  vials.  He  who  possesses  one  of  them,  can 
obtain  from  him  whatever  gratification  he  may  wish  for  in 
life,  but  more  especially  countless  sums  of  money.  In 
return  for  these,  the  imp  requires  the  soul  of  his  possessor 
for  his  master  Lucifer,  should  the  possessor  die  without 
having  transferred  him  to  other  hands.  But  this  transfer 
can  be  effected  only  by  sale,  and  beside  he  must  receive 
from  him  a  less  sum  than  he  gave.  My  demon  cost  me 
ten  ducats ;  if  you  are  willing  to  give  me  nine  for  him,  he 
is  yours," 


118 

While  young  Richard  was  yet  deliberating  what  to  do, 
the  Spaniard  went  on:  "I  have  the  power  indeed  of  im- 
posing upon  a  person,  and  of  putting  the  imp  into  his 
hands  in  room  of  some  other  vial  or  play-thing,  just  as  an 
unprincipled  trader  put  me  in  possession  of  him.  But  I 
mean  to  burden  my  conscience  no  more,  and  I  offer  you 
the  purchase  honourably  and  openly.  You  are  yet  young 
and  attached  to  life,  and  will  doubtless  have  numerous 
opportunities  of  getting  rid  of  the  thing,  should  it  ever 
become  oppressive  to  you  as  it  now  is  to  me." 

"  My  dear  Sir,"  said  Richard  in  return,  "you  must  not 
take  it  ill,  if  I  am  somewhat  slow  to  believe  such  wonders, 
for,  since  coming  to  this  city  of  Venice,  I  have  been  more 
than  once  imposed  upon  already." 

"  Why,  you  foolish  young  fellow,"  cried  the  Spaniard  in 
anger,  "you  have  only  to  remember  my  entertainment  of 
last  evening,  to  satisfy  yourself  whether  I  would  deceive 
you  for  the  paltry  pittance  of  nine  ducats." 

"  He  who  is  lavish  in  banqueting,  must  be  lavish  also 
in  expenditure,"  modestly  observed  the  young  merchant ; 
"  and  it  is  not  coffers  of  gold,  but  the  labour  of  the  hands, 
that  secures  to  us  an  unfailing  mine  of  wealth.  Now  sup- 
posing you  last  night  spent  the  only  ducats  you  had 
remaining,  no  doubt  my  nine,  the  last  but  one  that  I  pos- 
sess, would  be  very  welcome  to  you." 

"  Excuse  my  not  stabbing  you  to  the  heart,"  cried  the 
Spaniard,  withdrawing  his  hand  from  the  dagger  he  had 
grasped.  "Perhaps  I  break  the  laws  of  honour  by  this 
forbearance,  but  I  am  influenced  by  a  powerful  motive  :  I 
hope  you  will  relieve  me  of  my  genie  of  the  vial,  and  thus 
aid  me  in  my  resolution  to  do  penance,  while  such  an  act 
of  violence  would  only  aggravate  my  crime." 

"  Will  you  give  me  with  the  vial,  then,  some  proofs  of 
its  value  ?"  the  young  merchant  cautiously  asked  him. 

"  How  is  that  possible?"  answered  the  captain.  "It 
remains  with  him  alone,  and  affords  assistance  to  him  alone, 
who  has  first  fairly  bought  it  with  cash." 

Young  Richard  now  became  anxious  and  alarmed  ;  for 
the  lonely  place,  where  they  sat  together  in  the  darkness, 
appeared  dismal,  although  the  captain  was  prompt  to 
assure   him,  that,  owing  to  the   penance  he  purposed,  he 


119 

would  by  no  means  compel  him  to  embrace  his  offer. 
Still  all  the  enjoyments,  which  would  surround  him  on  the 
acquisition  of  the  vial-demon,  seemed  at  once  hovering 
before  him.  So  he  resolved  to  hazard  on  the  purchase 
half  of  all  the  ready  money  he  possessed,  though  he  first 
made  trial  whether  he  could  not  reduce  the  high  price 
somewhat  lower. 

"  You  are  a  fool ! "  exclaimed  the  captain  with  a  laugh 
more  grave  than  gay  :  "  It  is  for  your  advantage,  and  the 
advantage  of  those  who  make  the  purchase  of  you,  that  I 
ask  the  highest  price :  my  motive  is,  that  no  one  may  soon 
buy  the  vial  for  the  smallest  of  all  the  coins  in  the  world, 
and  thus  irretrievably  become  the  devil's  property,  because 
he  would  then  no  longer  have  the  power  of  selling  it." 

"  Ah,  say  no  more,  leave  that  to  me,"  said  Richard  in 
a  tone  of  friendly  acquiescence  :  "  Believe  me,  I  shall  be 
in  no  hurry  to  dispose  of  that  wonderful  thing.  Could  I 
have  it  then  for  five  ducats  " 

"  For  my  own  sake  I  accept  the  offer,"  replied  the 
Spaniard.  "  Should  you  make  your  little  black  devil 
work  out  his  whole  term  of  service,  even  to  the  last  mo- 
ment, a  human  soul,  alas,  will  be  lost  too  soon." 

Receiving  the  sum  offered,  he  then  handed  to  the  young 
German  a  slender  glass  vial,  in  which  Richard  saw  by  the 
starlight  something  black  leaping  wildly  up  and  down. 

To  prove  the  worth  of  his  purchase,  he  at  once  required 
in  thought  the  sum  he  had  expended,  to  be  doubled  in 
his  right  hand,  and  swift  as  the  wish  he  felt  the  ten  ducats 
to  be  there.  He  then  joyfully  returned  to  the  public 
house,  where  the  rest  of  his  clan  were  still  carousing,  and 
they  were  all  in  the  highest  degree  astonished,  that  their 
two  companions,  who  had  just  left  them  with  an  air  so 
disconsolate,  now  re-entered  with  faces  so  brightened.  But 
the  Spaniard  took  a  hasty  leave  without  remaining  to  share 
the  rich  and  sumptuous  entertainment,  which  Richard, 
although  the  night  had  far  advanced,  ordered  to  be  brought 
in,  —  paying  the  mistrustful  landlord  beforehand,  while 
through  the  power  of  his  manikin  genie  both  his  pockets 
chinked  anew,  with  ducats,  the  very  moment  he  formed 
the  wish  to  have  them. 


CHAPTER  II 


INCIDENT  OF  THE  BROOK.     SIN  AND  SUFFERING.     DANCE  OF 

VIALS.     DEVIL'S  CHANT.     THE  DOCTOR  AND  HIS 

RARE  REMEDY.       LAWYER'S  TRICK. 


Those  persons  who  would  like  to  get  possession,  them- 
selves, of  such  a  genie  as  Richard  had  obtained,  will  best 
be  able  to  imagine  the  life,  which  this  jovial  youngster  led 
from  this  day  forward,  unless  indeed  they  would  choose  to 
devote  themselves  to  the  excesses  of  avarice.  But  even 
a  provident  and  better  disposed  mind  may  easily  conceive, 
that  his  course  of  conduct  all  savoured  of  the  wildest  prodi- 
gality. His  first  concern  was,  that  the  beautiful  Lucre- 
tia,  —  for  by  this  name  his  late  sharper-courtesan  had  not 
scrupled  to  call  herself,  —  should  by  uncounted  sums  of 
money  be  secured  wholly  to  himself;  after  which  he  pur- 
chased a  palace  and  two  villas,  and  surrounded  himself 
with  all  the  imaginable  splendour  of  the  world. 

It  happened  one  day,  that  he  was  sitting  with  Lucretia 
in  the  garden  of  one  of  his  country-seats,  on  the  border  of 
a  deep  and  rapid  stream.  A  good  deal  of  raillery  and 
laughter  had  passed  between  these  two  young  fools,  when 
at  length  Lucretia  unexpectedly  saw  and  seized  the  imp- 
vial,  which  Richard  had  attached  to  a  small  chain  of  gold, 
and  carried  in  his  bosom  under  his  vest.  Before  it  was  in 
his  power  to  prevent  her,  she  had  torn  the  delicate  chain 
from  his  neck,  and  now  sportively  held  up  the  slender  vial 
toward  the  light.  At  first  she  laughed  at  the  wonderful 
gambols  of  the  little  black  within,  «Sä  all  at  once  shud- 
dered and  screamed  with  affright :  "  Foh  !  it  is  a 
perfect  toad  ! "  and  she  threw  chain,  vial,  and  demon  into 


121 

the  stream,  which  instantly  whirled  them  all  from  their 
view. 

The  poor  young  fellow  strove  to  conceal  his  terrour,  lest 
his  mistress  should  press  him  too  closely  with  questions, 
and  at  last  bring  him  before  the  tribunal  of  justice  on  the 
charge  of  sorcery.  But  he  represented  the  thing  as  a 
curious  toy,  and  as  soon  as  he  thought  it  discreet,  relieved 
himself  of  Lucretia's  company,  in  order  to  deliberate  by 
himself  what  was  now  best  to  be  done.  He  was  still  in 
possession  of  his  palace,  as  well  as  his  country-seats,  and 
a  glorious  heap  of  ducats  must  remain  in  his  pockets. 
But  he  was  agreeably  surprised,  when,  feeling  for  his 
money,  he  held  in  his  hand  both  vial  and  devilkin.  The 
chain  was  lying  perhaps  at  the  bottom  of  the  brook,  while 
the  vial  and  wishing  genie  had  safely  returned  to  their 
owner.  "Why,  how  is  this?"  cried  he  in  a  transport : 
"  I  possess  a  treasure,  then,  of  which  no  power  on  earth 
can  deprive  me  ! "  and  he  would  no  doubt  have  kissed  the 
vial,  had  not  the  little  gamboling  black  within  looked 
rather  too  horrible. 

Wild  and  ^extravagant  as  Richard's  career  had  hither- 
to been,  he  now  made  it  ten  times  more  so.  He  looked 
down  with  pity  and  contempt  upon  all  the  princes  and 
potentates  of  the  earth,  convinced  that  no  one  of  them 
could  enjoy  half  so  delightful  a  life  as  his.  Scarcely  an 
individual,  in  the  rich  commercial  city  of  Venice,  could 
bring  together  such  rare  viands  and  choice  wines,  as  he 
demanded  for  his  sumptuous  banquets.  Whenever  any 
friendly  person  reproved  or  warned  him  in  relation  to  these, 
he  was  wont  to  reply  :  "  Richard  is  my  name,  and  my 
riches  are  so  inexhaustible,  that  no  expenses  can  make  any 
impression  upon  the  sum."  Often  too  did  he  laugh  im- 
moderately at  the  Spanish  Captain,  who  sought  to  rid  him- 
self of  a  treasure  so  invaluable,  and  who,  as  he  was  told, 
in  addition  to  such  folly,  had  retired  into  a  monastery. 

But  every  thing  earthly  is  of  brief  continuance.  This 
truth  was  our  young  libertine,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  the 
world,  compelled  to  experience,  and  no  doubt  the  sooner, 
as  he  abandoned  himself  to  every  species  of  sensual  pleasure 
with  the  most  unbounded  indulgence.  A  deathlike  weari- 
ness fell  upon  his  exhausted  body,  notwithstanding  his 
11 


122 

wishing  genie,  whose  assistance,  the  first  day  of  his  ill- 
ness, he  called  for  ten  times  —  in  vain.  One  weary  hour 
followed  another :  still  he  became  no  better,  and  more- 
over, he  that  night  had  a  strange  dream. 

It  seemed  to  him,  that  one  of  the  vials  of  medicine, 
that  stood  by  his  bed,  began  the  merriest  fandango  ever 
danced,  and  with  ceaseless  din  kept  clinking  and  tinkling 
against  the  tops  and  sides  of  the  rest.  When  Richard 
examined  the  matter  more  narrowly,  he  saw  it  was  the 
vial  that  contained  his  demon,  and  he  exclaimed  :  "  Why, 
you  gallows-bird,  you  gallows-bird,  you  not  only  refuse  to 
help  me,  in  defiance  of  your  duty,  but  are  spilling  and 
destroying  the  medicines  provided  for  my  cure."  The 
fiend,  however,  sang  hoarsely  from  his  vial  in  reply : 

"  Why,  Richard  dear,  why,  Richard  dear, 
No  endless  pains  torment  you  here; 
But  when  you  hell's  fierce  tortures  share, 
You'll  feel  the  gentlest  patience  there. 
To  cure  your  ails  I  craft  have  none, 
For  death  no  healing  herb  has  grown, 
It  joys  me,  —  you  are  now  my  own." 

Thus  chanting  his  devil  s' doggerel,  he  stretched  him- 
self out  into  a  long  and  slender  shape  ;  and  fast  as  Rich- 
ard held  the  vial,  he  crawled  out  between  his  thumb  and 
the  sealed  stopple,  and  became  a  huge  black  figure,  that 
hideously  danced  about,  and  at  the  same  time  made  a 
swift  whirring  with  his  bat-like  wings,  and  finally  pressed 
his  hairy  breast  upon  the  breast  of  Richard,  and  his  grin- 
ning face  upon  his  face,  so  firmly  and  so  closely,  that 
Richard  felt  as  if  he  already  began  to  resemble  him,  and 
shrieked  out  in  terrour:  "A  mirrour  !  amirrour!  bring  me  a 
mirrour!  " 

He  woke  in  the  cold  sweat  of  agony,  while  it  still 
seemed  to  him,  as  if  a  black  toad  were  running  nimbly 
down  his  bosom  into  the  pocket  of  his  night-robe.  Shud- 
dering, he  thrust  his  hand  into  it,  but  brought  nothing  out 
except  the  vial,  wherein  the  little  black  was  now  lying,  as 
if  wearied  out  and  dreaming. 

Alas,  how  endless  to  the  sick  man  appeared  the  remain- 
der of  this  night !  He  would  no  longer  trust  himself  to 
sleep,  fearing  it  would  bring  the  black  miscreant  upon  him 


123 

again  ;  and  still  he  hardly  ventured  to  open  his  eyes,  fear- 
ful that  the  monster  might  be  actually  lurking  in  some 
corner  of  the  room.  If  he  again  closed  them,  he  thought 
the  form  had  come  creeping  close  upon  him  by  stealth, 
and  once  more  started  up  in  terrour.  He  rung  the  bell  for 
his  attendants,  but  they  continued  sleeping  as  soundly  as 
if  they  were  deaf  or  dead,  and  Lucretia,  since  his  illness, 
had  never  once  appeared  in  his  chamber.  Thus  then  was 
he  obliged  to  lie  alone  in  his  anguish,  which  became  still 
more  aggravated,  as  this  reflection  was  continually  forced 
upon  him :  "Ah,  my  God,  if  this  night  seem  so  long, 
how  long  will  be  the  perpetual  night  of  hell ! "  and  he 
resolved,  should  God  spare  his  life  until  the  morrow,  to 
employ  all  the  means  in  his  power  of  freeing  himself  from 
his  fiend. 

When  morning  at  length  came,  and  he  was  somewhat 
enlivened  and  strengthened  by  the  early  light,  he  set 
about  considering  whether  he  had  as  yet  derived  as  much 
advantage  from  his  purchase,  as  it  would  be  wise  to  do. 
His  palace,  villas,  and  every  variety  of  splendour  appear- 
ing insufficient,  he  instantly  required  a  great  quantity  more 
of  ducats  under  his  pillow ;  and  the  moment  he  found  the 
heavy  bag  there,  he  began  calmly  to  deliberate,  to  whom 
he  could  best  sell  his  vial.  His  physician,  he  knew,  was 
fond  of  collecting  all  the  strange  creatures,  that  are  pre- 
served in  spirit,  and  he  hoped  to  pass  off  his  genie  to  him 
for  one  of  these,  because  the  doctor,  being  a  religious  man, 
would  make  no  improper  use  of  it.  To  be  sure,  it  would 
be  playing  him  a  scurvy  trick,  but  he  reasoned  himself  into 
the  measure  thus:  "  It  is  better  to  expiate  a  smaller  sin 
in  purgatory,  than  to  yield  yourself  up  to  Lucifer  irre- 
vocably. Besides,  every  man  is  most  interested  in  his 
own  destiny,  and  my  danger  of  death  admits  of  no 
delay." 

Thus  the  matter  rested.  He  offered  the  imp  to  the 
physician.  It  had  just  become  lively  again,  and  was  gam- 
boling in  its  vial  right  merrily  ;  so  that  the  learned  man, 
wishing  to  examine  such  a  production  of  nature  more 
closely,  (for  in  that  light  it  was  he  considered  it)  said  he 
should  like  to  buy  it,  if  the  price  were  not  too  high. 
With  a  view  to  ask  enough  to  satisfy  his  conscience,  in  some 


124 

degree  at  least,  Richard  set  the  price  as  high  as  he  could, — 
four  ducats,  two  thalers,  and  twenty  groschen,  German 
money.  But  the  doctor  was  not  willing  to  give  more  than 
three  ducats  at  most,  and  decided  at  last,  that  if  he  could 
not  have  it  for  that,  he  must  think  of  it  a  few  days.  Then 
the  horrour  of  death  again  fell  upon  the  poor  young  sin- 
ner ;  he  let  him  take  it  for  three  ducats,  and  ordered  his 
servants  to  distribute  them  among  the  poor.  He  kept  his 
bag  of  money  under  his  pillow,  however,  now  purposing, 
in  the  best  manner  he  could,  to  found  upon  it  all  his  future 
fortune,  —  whether  weal  or  wToe. 

The  young  merchant's  illness,  meantime,  became  ex- 
tremely severe.  He  lay  almost  continually  in  a  delirium 
of  fever  ;  and  had  he  still  felt  on  his  heart  the  distress  oc- 
casioned by  his  vial-fiend,  he  would  no  doubt  have  per- 
ished with  anguish  of  soul.  But  that  being  removed,  he 
at  length  gradually  recovered,  and  a  single  circumstance, 
alone,  was  all  that  retarded  his  perfect  restoration  :  this 
was  the  anxiety,  with  which  he  every  moment  thought  of 
the  ducats  he  had  placed  under  his  pillow,  and  which 
from  his  first  lucid  interval  he  had  searched  for  there  in 
vain.  He  felt  unwilling,  at  first,  to  ask  any  one  respect- 
ing them  ;  but  when  he  at  last  did  so,  no  one  chose  to 
know  any  thing  of  the  matter.  He  sent  to  Lucretia,  who 
in  the  most  dangerous  hours  of  his  unconsciousness  would 
be  about  him,  and  had  now  returned  home  again  to  her 
former  companions.  But  she  ordered  his  messenger  to 
carry  back  this  answer  to  his  inquiries  :  '  That  there  was 
no  use  in  troubling  either  her  or  himself  about  the  ducats ; 
for  had  he  ever  mentioned  them  either  to  her  or  any  other 
person  ?  and  if  no  one  knew  any  thing  about  them,  his 
impression  must  doubtless  have  been  all  produced  by  the 
frenzy  of  fever.' 

While  he  was  rising  with  a  weight  of  sadness  on  his 
mind,  the  thought  struck  him,  that  he  could  convert  his 
palace  and  country  houses  into  money.  But  several  per- 
sons came  in  soon  after,  who  brought  deeds  of  all  his  pos- 
sessions, which  they  had  bought  and  paid  for  ;  they  were 
signed  and  sealed  by  himself,  for  in  the  season  of  his  pride 
and  prodigality  he  had  given  blank-bonds  to  Lucretia,  to 
make  whatever  use  of  them  she  might  chuse ;  and  he  was 


125 

now  compelled,  in  his  reduced  state,  to  scrape  together  the 
miserable  fragments  of  his  fortune,  in  order  to  set  himself 
up  as  little  more  than  a  beggar. 

In  addition  to  this  calamity,  came  the  physician  who 
had  cured  him,  with  a  solemn  countenance.  — "  Why, 
doctor,"  exclaimed  the  young  prodigal,  fretfully  accosting 
him,  "if,  after  the  practice  of  all  your  tribe,  you  have 
come  with  your  bill  drawn  out  as  long  as  your  arm,  then 
give  me  a  poison-powder  into  the  bargain  ;  for  the  conse- 
quence of  paying  such  a  demand,  I  well  know,  would  be 
my  ruin  ;  my  last  bread  would  be  baked,  since  I  should 
have  no  money  to  buy  any  more." 

"  Not  so,"  replied  the  physician  with  much  gravity ;  "I 
remit  to  you  my  whole  charge  for  your  cure.  But  I  bring 
you  a  rare  remedy,  which  I  have  already  set  away  in  that 
cupboard,  and  which  you  may  take  for  your  future 
strengthening,  as  occasion  may  require; — for  this  you 
must  allow  me  two  ducats.     Would  you  like  to  have  it  ? " 

"  Yes,  with  all  my  heart !  "  cried  the  delighted  merchant, 
and  gave  him  the  money.  The  doctor  then  left  the  cham- 
ber with  as  much  speed  as  possible.  But  hardly  had 
Richard  put  his  hand  into  the  cupboard,  when  his  genie- 
vial  already  stood  snugly  between  his  fingers.  A  small 
billet  was  twisted  about  it,  in  which  were  the  following 
rhymes  : 

"  Your  body  I  sought  to  cure, 
My  soul  you  sought  to  kill ; 
Soon  warned  by  deeper  lore, 
I  knew  your  scoundrel  will. 

Preferring  you  to  all,  — 

How  pat  the  countermine  !  — 
I  here  to  worthier  hands 

Your  devilkin  resign. 

Be  a  gallows-rope 
A  gallows-bird's  hope, 
And  a  devil's  friend 
Have  a  devil's  end." 

Young  Richard  was  certainly  in  extreme   terrour,  when 

he  found  that  he  had    purchased  the   vial-fiend   again,  and 

for  so  small  a  sum.     But  still  there  was  joy  mixed  with  the 

terrour.     He  purposed   to  be  soon  rid  of  the  imp  again, 

11* 


126 

and  he  was  not  embarrassed  with  the  least  scruple  in  re- 
gard to  the  way,  so  determined  wTas  he,  by  means  of  it, 
on  being  revenged  upon  the  vile  cheat,  Lucretia. 

And  he  undertook  the  business  in  the  following  man- 
ner.  He  first  wished  his  pockets  replenished  with  double 
the  number  of  ducats,  that  he  had  placed  under  his  pillow, 
and  he  immediately  almost  sunk  to  the  ground  beneath 
their  weight.  The  whole  of  this  enormous  sum  he 
deposited  with  the  nearest  advocate,  and  took  such  receipt 
or  security  as  the  law  requires,  reserving  only  about  a 
hundred  and  twenty  pieces  of  gold,  with  which  he  repair- 
ed to  the  residence  of  the  dissolute  Lucretia.  There  he 
again  gave  himself  up  to  intemperance,  gaming,  and 
every  species  of  folly,  as  he  had  done  some  months  before, 
and  Lucretia  showed  exceeding  kindness  to  the  young 
merchant,  —  in  consideration  of  his  money.  From  time 
to  time  he  played  every  variety  of  ingenious  juggling 
tricks  by  means  of  his  vial-genie,  and  told  his  astonished 
mistress,  that  it  was  a  thing  of  the  same  kind  as  that, 
which  she  had  once  thrown  into  the  wTater,  and  that  he 
was  in  possession  of  several  of  them.  Like  other  women, 
she  too  was  eager  to  possess  a  plaything  so  curious,  and 
when,  as  if  he  were  in  sport,  he  demanded  money  for  it, 
she  without  hesitation  gave  him  a  ducat.  The  bargain 
being  closed,  Richard  left  the  house  as  soon  as  possible, 
in  order  to  get  from  the  advocate  a  part  of  the  sum 
intrusted  to  his  care.  But  not  a  stiver  could  he  obtain 
there  ;  the  lawyer  opened  his  eyes  as  wide  as  an  owl, 
and  appeared  to  be  exceedingly  surprised  :  he  was  a  per- 
fect stranger,  he  said,  to  the  young  gentleman.  When 
Richard  would  have  produced  a  testimonial  from  his 
pocket,  he  found  it  nothing  but  an  unwritten  piece  of 
white  paper.  The  advocate  had  written  his  document 
with  that  kind  of  ink,  which  fades  away  in  a  few  hours, 
and  leaves  no  vestige  of  the  words.  By  this  manoeuvre, 
so  contrary  to  all  expectation,  the  young  blade  saw  him- 
self again  impoverished  ;  and  he  would  have  been  a 
beggar,  had  he  not  still  retained  in  his  pocket  about  thirty 
ducats  of  his  lavish  expenditure  with  Lucretia. 


CHAPTER  III 


OUR   HERO   REDUCED    TO    A   PEDLAR.      RICHARD    HIMSELF 

AGAIN.     RESUMES  HIS  GRAND  STYLE  OE  LIVING. 

HIS    THREE    GROSCHEN. 


He  whose  bed  is  too  short,  must  lie  crooked  ;  he  who 
has  no  bed  at  all,  must  make  shift  to  sleep  on  the  floor; 
he  who  is  unable  to  pay  for  a  carriage,  must  ride  on  horse- 
back ;  and  he  who  has  no  horse,  must  go  on  foot. 

After  some  days  of  idle  indecision,  Richard  saw  clearly, 
that  in  this  lounging  kind  of  life  his  money  would  soon  be 
exhausted,  and  that  he  must  resolve  at  once  to  sink  for  a 
time  from  merchant  to  pedlar.  So  making  inquiry  for  a 
small  trunk,  suitable  to  his  humble  employment,  he  found 
one  to  his  mind  :  he  bought  a  box  also  to  hold  the  remnant  of 
his  money,  while  for  every  little  article  he  put  into  his 
trunk,  he  paid  on  an  average  about  four  groschen,  German 
money. 

Alas,  what  a  change  was  here  !  how  irksome  he  found 
the  task  of  bending  over  the  strap,  and  offering  his  trinkets 
for  sale  in  those  very  streets,  where,  only  a  few  weeks 
before,  he  had  flaunted  with  all  the  airs  of  lordly  insolence  ! 
He  however  got  through  the  day  with  a  pretty  cheerful 
mind,  as  purchasers  came  for  the  most  part  running  to 
meet  him,  and  frequently  offered  him  more  than  he 
had  ventured  to  ask.  —  "  The  city  after  all  is  very  good," 
he  thought  within  himself,  "  and  if  things  go  on  in  this 
way,  a  short  period  of  hardship  will  again  raise  me  to  the 
condition  of  a  wealthy  man.  I  will  then  return  to  Ger- 
many, and  shall  be  so  much  the  more  able  to  realize  the 


128 

comforts  of  home,  since  having  been  in  the  clutches  of  the 
cursed  vial-genie,  I  have  had  sense  and  consideration 
enough  to  escape  out  of  them." 

With  musings  of  this  nature  he  flattered  and  comforted 
himself  that  evening  at  the  inn,  where  he  had  just  set 
down  his  trunk.  Some  inquisitive  guests  were  standing 
about  the  bar-room,  and  one  of  them  asked  him :  "  What 
strange  animal  is  that,  friend,  which  you  have  in  that  vial 
there,  and  which  is  tumbling  and  shooting  about  so  comi- 
cally ?" — Richard  darted  a  look  of  alarm  that  way,  and 
now  for  the  first  time  perceived,  that  among  other  trinkets 
of  his  trade  he  had  unawares  possessed  himself  of  the.  vial- 
demon  again.  Without  a  moment's  delay,  he  offered  it  to 
the  stranger  who  made  the  inquiry,  for  three  groschen, — 
he  had  just  given  four  for  it  himself,  —  and  with  the  same 
haste  he  offered  it  to  all  the  guests  at  the  same  price.  But 
they  were  disgusted  with  the  odious  black  creature,  for 
which  he  was  unable  to  tell  them  the  least  use, — or  none 
that  he  dared  tell  them  ;  and  as  he  kept  pressing  his  worth- 
less toy  upon  them,  never  ceasing  to  interrupt  their  talk, 
they  turned  their  troublesome  companion,  together  with 
his  trunk  and  black  jumper,  out  of  the  house. 

In  perfect  agony  of  soul,  he  hurried  to  the  man  who 
had  sold  him  the  box  containing  the  vial,  and  would  have 
forced  upon  him  the  little  Satan  for  a  lower  price  than  he 
gave.  But  the  man  was  drowsy,  and  absolutely  refused  to 
have  any  thing  to  do  with  the  matter ;  and  he  ended  by 
saying,  that  if  he  was  determined  to  restore  the  hateful 
vial  to  its  first  owner,  he  must  go  with  it  to  the  wench 
Lucretia ;  she  had  sold  him  the  thing,  together  with 
several  other  trifles.  But  for  himself,  he  begged  to  be 
allowed  to  sleep  in  peace. 

"  Ah,  most  gracious  God  ! "  sighed  Richard  from  the 
depth  of  his  soul,  "  how  is  it  possible  for  him  to  sleep  thus 
peacefully  I "  While  he  was  hurrying  across  a  great 
square,  in  order  to  reach  the  residence  of  Lucretia,  he  felt 
the  certain  conviction,  that  somebody  was  running  and 
making  a  rustling  behind  him  in  the  darkness,  and  every 
now  and  then  grasping  him  by  the  neck.  Trembling  with 
terrour,  he  entered  Lucretia's  apartment  by  a  back  door, 
formerly  quite  familiar  to  him.     She  was  still  seated  at  a 


129 

merry  supper  with  two  of  her  paramours,  who  were  stran- 
gers to  him.  At  first  she  did  not  know  who  he  was,  and 
reproved  the  insolent  pedlar  with  severity.  Her  sparks 
however  purchased  nearly  all  the  articles  he  had,  as  pres- 
ents for  the  courtesan,  who  thus  coming  to  know  him, 
began  laughing  him  to  scorn.  But  as  for  the  vial-genie, 
no  one  was  disposed  to  buy  it.  When  he  repeatedly  made 
them  the  offer  of  it,  Lucretia  cried  out  : 

"  Foh  !  away  with  the  offensive  thing  !  I  have  already 
been  the  owner  of  it  once,  and  endured  the  abomination  a 
whole  day.  T  then  sold  it  for  several  groschen  to  a  miser- 
ly sharper  resembling  its  present  owner,  this  huckster,  who 
had  himself  persuaded  me  to  give  him  a  ducat  for  it." 

"It  was  for  your  own  temporal  advantage,"  cried  the 
young  merchant  in  deep  distress  :  "  you  know  not,  Lucre- 
tia, what  a  treasure  you  are  thrusting  from  you.  Let  me 
speak  but  five  minutes  alone  with  you,  and  you  will  not 
fail  to  purchase  the  vial." 

She  stepped  a  little  apart  with  him,  and  he  fully  disclos- 
ed to  her  the  strange  secret  of  the  wishing  genie.  But 
she  only  began  to  scream  and  revile  him.  "  Do  you  still 
take  me  for  a  fool,  you  rascally  beggar?"  she  cried. 
"  Were  your  story  true,  you  would  certainly  require  Satan 
to  give  you  something  of  more  value,  than  that  trunk  and 
that  strap.  Pack  off!  And  even  should  you  speak  false- 
ly, I  will  denounce  you  as  a  sorcerer  and  wizard  ;  and  then 
you  will  be  burnt,  senseless  braggadocio  that  you  are." 

In  addition  to  this  abuse,  the  two  profligates,  in  order 
to  recommend  themselves  to  their  mistress,  fell  upon  the 
young  stripling,  bewildered  and  alarmed  as  he  was,  and, 
after  pommeling  him  without  mercy,  pitched  him  down 
stairs  ;  so  that  although  enraged  at  this  ignominious  treat- 
ment, he  was  so  horribly  afraid  of  being  burnt  for  sorcery, 
that  he  did  nothing  but  hurry  from  Venice  with  all  the 
speed  in  his  power.  By  the  next  day  at  noon  he  had  left 
its  boundaries,  when  he  turned  and  cursed  it  from  its  bor- 
ders, as  the  cause  of  all  his  misery. 

At  this  moment  Richard  saw  the  vial-genie  peering  from 
his  pocket,  and  while  he  chanced  to  observe  the  creature's 
wild  jumps  and  gambols,  he  exclaimed  :  "  Well,  this  is 
fortunate,  you  worthless  miscreant ;  you  shall  still  prove  of 


130 

some  service  to  me,  and  aid  me  too  in  the  more  expedi- 
tiously getting  rid  of  you."  And  he  instantly  wished 
himself  again  a  countless  sum  of  money,  much  more  than 
at  the  last  time  ;  and  now,  with  difficulty  supporting  his 
heavy  pockets,  he  stole  along  into  the  nearest  town. 
There  he  bought  a  brilliant  chariot,  hired  lackeys,  and 
hastened  to  plunge  into  the  vortex  of  dissipation,  —  the 
pomp  and  luxury  of  the  great  metropolis,  Rome, —  (ully 
persuaded  that  there,  amid  the  confusion  of  so  many  men 
of  diverse  wishes  and  manners,  he  should  get  rid  of  the 
foe  of  his  peace.  Meanwhile,  as  often  as  he  spent  his 
ducats,  he  required  his  imp  to  make  good  the  sum  expend- 
ed, so  that  after  the  sale  of  the  vial  he  might  still  have  the 
whole  undiminished.  This  appeared  to  him  no  more  than 
a  just  recompense  for  the  misery  he  endured ;  for  it  was 
not  enough,  that  almost  every  night  the  demon  assumed 
again  the  hideous  black  figure  of  his  first  dream,  and  lay 
upon  his  breast ;  —  he  saw  also  when  wide  awake,  that  the 
fiend  continually  danced  about  in  his  vial  with  such  a 
frenzy  of  delight,  as  if  he  were  now  sure  of  his  prey,  and 
were  exulting  in  prospect  of  the  speedy  accomplishment 
of  his  term  of  servitude. 

Hardly  had  his  wealth  and  profusion  introduced  him  into 
the  most  distinguished  society  of  Rome,  ere  his  terrour,  ever 
awake,  allowed  him  no  leisure  to  wait  for  convenient  op- 
portunities of  selling  his  enemy.  To  every  man  he 
addressed,  he  without  distinction,  offered  the  vial  for  three 
groschen,  German  money,  and  was  soon  viewed  as  a  strange 
madman,  the  universal. derision  of  the  city.  Money  in- 
deed inspires  courage  and  gains  us  friends.  He  was 
everywhere,  too,  very  desirous  of  making  a  display  of  his 
riches ;  but  the  instant  he  began  to  speak  of  his  vial  and 
three  groschen,  German  money,  all  nodded  to  him  with 
much  courtesy,  and  then  with  a  smile  made  haste  to  dis- 
engage themselves  from  his  company.  This  treatment  led 
him  often  to  remark  :  "  There  is  only  one  thing  prevents 
men's  selling  themselves  to  the  devil,  and  that  is,  alas  !.... 
they  are  more  than  half  his  already  !  " 


CHAPTER  IV. 


JOINS  A  TROOP  IN  DESPAIR     SKIRMISH.      ADVENTURE 
OE  SOLDIERS  IN  A  "WOOD. 


Our  hero  was  at  last  seized  with  such  a  feeling  of  des- 
pair, that  he  could  bear  to  remain  in  the  beautiful  city  of 
Rome  no  longer ;  so  he  formed  the  resolution  of  taking 
his  chance  in  war,  to  see  whether  he  could  not  deliver 
himself  from  his  vial-demon  there.  Hearing  that  two  of 
the  small  states  of  Italy  were  engaged  in  hostilities,  he  se- 
riously prepared  to  attach  himself  to  one  of  the  parties. 
Provided  with  a  coat  of  mail  ornamented  with  gold, 
a  hat  waving  with  plumes,  a  choice  pair  of  horse-pis- 
tols, a  sword  as  bright  as  a  mirrour,  and  two  costly  daggers, 
he  rode  from  the  gates  on  a  Spanish  charger,  followed  by 
three  well-armed  attendants  on  stout  horses. 

Would  not  a  warriour  so  well  equipped,  and  who  was 
willing  beside  to  serve  without  pay,  receive  a  warm  wel- 
come from  any  captain  of  horse  whatever  ?  The  bold 
Richard  saw  himself  at  once  enrolled  in  a  brave  troop, 
and  for  a  long  while  fared  so  well,  and  lived  so  pleasantly 
in  the  camp,  that  he  seemed  to  be  less  sensible  to  his 
severe  distress  arising  from  his  genie,  and  the  stifling 
dreams  with  which  he  was  all  night  persecuted.  Gaining 
wisdom  from  his  experience  at  Rome,  he  now  became 
more  cautious  how  he  offered  his  unwelcome  article  with 
too  much  importunity.  As  yet,  indeed,  he  had  avoided 
mentioning  it  to  any  of  his  comrades  ;  and  this  he  did,  that 
he  might  effect  his  purpose  the  more  easily,  and,  as  it 
might  seem,  in  sport. 


132 

One  fine  morning,  about  this  time,  some  scattering 
reports  of  fire-arms  came  cracking  from  the  neighbouring 
mountain.  The  troopers,  who  happened  at  the  moment  to 
be  playing  dice  with  Richard,  paused  and  listened ;  soon 
after  the  trumpets  blew  a  blast,  summoning  all  to  muster 
throughout  the  camp.  They  mounted  their  horses  in 
haste,  and  moved  rapidly  and  in  good  order  toward  the 
plain,  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  On  the  mountain  side 
they  already  saw  the  foot-soldiers  of  both  armies  enveloped 
in  vapour  and  smoke ;  the  enemy's  horse  formed  on  the 
plain.  Richard  felt  in  high  spirits,  as  his  Spanish  war- 
horse  neighed  and  pranced  under  him,  his  weapons  pro- 
duced an  inspiring  clang,  the  leaders  shouted,  the  trumpets 
blew.  A  troop  of  horse,  belonging  to  the  enemy,  advanced 
toward  them,  with  a  view,  as  it  appeared,  to  prevent  their 
ascending  the  mountain,  but  soon  sheered  off  and  retreated 
before  the  superiour  force ;  and  Richard,  with  his  attendants, 
was  by  no  means  among  the  last,  who  pressed  them  hard 
at  full  gallop,  and  who  were  greatly  amused  in  becoming 
themselves  the  pursuers  and  objects  of  alarm.  All  at 
once  they  heard  a  whizzing  in  the  air  over  their  heads. 
The  horses  started ;  then  came  the  whizzing  a  second  time, 
and  a  horseman,  struck  by  a  cannon-ball,  rolled  with  his 
horse   in  blood. 

Now  Richard  thought  within  himself,  "  the  great- 
er the  number  the  greater  the  safety,"  and  he  was 
on  the  point  of  scouring  off,  when  to  his  astonishment 
his  own  troop  came  pouring  on  close  in  his  rear,  resolving 
to  advance  upon  the  foe,  almost  in  the  very  face  of  the 
artillery.  Richard  kept  with  them  for  a  while ;  but  when 
the  balls  began  to  tear  up  the  ground  near  him,  on  the 
right  and  left,  and  the  enemy's  horse  were  pushing  for- 
ward in  great  numbers,  the  thought  flashed  upon  him  : 
"  Why,  where  am  I  ?  How  have  I  been  guilty  of  such 
madness,  as  to  rush  into  peril  like  this!  On  this  meadow 
I  am  much  nearer  death,  than  on  the  bed  of  sickness  ; 
and  should  one  of  these  cursed  whizzers  hit  me,  I  am  the 
booty  of  the  imp  and  his  master  Lucifer  forever."  —  And 
hardly  had  the  thought  darted  through  his  mind,  when  bis 
Spanish  courser  turned,  and  rushed  with  uncontroulable 
swiftness  toward  a  wood  not  far  off. 


133 

So  long  and  so  wildly  did  he  spur  forward  beneath  the 
lofty  trees,  and  so  perfectly  regardless  was  he  of  path  or 
direction,  that  at  last  his  horse  stood  stock-still  through 
exhaustion.  Overwearied  himself,  he  then  dismounted, 
disengaged  himself  from  his  cuirass  and  shoulder-belt,  and 
his  horse  from  his  head-stall  and  saddle,  and  said,  as  he 
flung  himself  upon  the  grass :  "  Why,  good  Heaven  ! 
how  little  I  am  fitted  for  a  soldier,  at  least  with  the  vial- 
fiend  in  my  pocket  !  "  —  He  was  now  about  to  deliberate 
what  his  next  move  should  be,  but  in  doing  so  he  fell  into 
a  deep  slumber. 

When  he  had  slept  a  considerable  time,  it  may  have 
been  many  hours,  a  murmur  like  that  of  human  voices, 
and  the  sound  of  the  trampling  of  men's  feet,  came  crowd- 
ing upon  his  ear.  But  as  he  lay  stretched  upon  the  cool 
turf  of  the  forest,  he  tried  to  keep  out  of  his  mind  the 
bustle,  and  to  sink  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  lethargy  of 
sleep,  until  a  voice  of  thunder  burst  upon  him  :  "  Are 
you  already  dead,  in  the  devil's  name  ?  Speak,  speak 
instantly,  or  we  crack  away  upon  you,  and  burn  our  pow- 
der for  nothing."  —  Our  hero,  thus  roused  with  so  little 
ceremony,  looked  up  and  saw  a  musket  levelled  at  his 
breast.  The  man  who  held  it,  was  a  grim-looking  foot- 
soldier,  whose  companions  stood  around,  having  already 
taken  possession  as  well  of  his  weapons  as  of  his  horse 
and  portmanteau.  He  begged  for  quarter,  and  cried 
above  all  in  the  greatest  agony  of  spirit : 

"  If  you  will  shoot  me,  do  at  least  first  buy  this  small 
vial  in  the  right  pocket  of  my  doublet." 

"Buy  it!  you  stupid  fellow,"  replied  one  of  the  sol- 
diers with  a  laugh  ;  "  I  will  not  buy  it,  but  as  sure  as  fate  I 
will  have  it."  And  while  speaking,  he  seized  the  vial, 
and  tucked  it  into  his  bosom. 

"  In  God's  name,"  cried  Richard,  "  take  the  creature, 
if  you  are  only  able  to  keep  him.  But  unless  you  buy 
him,  he  will  not  stay  with  you." 

The  soldiers  laughed,  and  marched  off  with  horse  and 
booty,  —  giving  themselves  no  more  trouble  about  a  man, 
whom  they  looked  upon  as  half  crazy.  But  feeling  in  his 
pocket,  and  finding  his  fatal  genie  snug  in  his  place  again, 
he  shouted  after  them,  and  held  up  the  vial.  The  soldier 
12 


134 

who  had  taken  it  from  him,  in  astonishment  thrust  his 
hand  in  his  bosom,  and,  not  finding  it  there,  ran  back  to 
get  it  a  second  time. 

"I  tell  you  of  a  truth,"  said  Richard  in  distress,  "it 
will  never  remain  with  you,  unless  you  buy  it.  Pray  give 
me  only  a  few  groschen  for  it." 

"  Ay,  you  conjurer!"  replied  the  soldier  with  a  laugh  ; 
"  never  think  to  chouse  me  after  that  fashion,  —  I  am  not  to 
be  fooled  out  of  my  hard-earned  money  so  easily."  And 
he  ran  after  his  comrades,  carefully  holding  the  vial  in  his 
hand.     But  stopping  suddenly,  he  cried  : 

"  The  devil  !  the  thing  has  slipped  through  my  fingers 
in  spite  of  all  my  care." 

While  he  was  hunting  for  it  among  the  grass,  Richard 
shouted  to  him  :  "  For  heaven's  sake  do  only  come  here. 
It  has  got  into  my  pocket  again  already." 

When  the  soldier  became  sensible  of  the  nature  of  the 
animal,  he  for  the  first  time  felt  a  real  inclination  for  the 
sportive  thing,  which,  —  as  it  was  wont  to  do,  when  it  was 
sold,  —  showed  the  highest  glee  and  delight ;  for  whenever 
it  changed  its  master,  it  of  course  drew  nearer  to  the  end 
of  its  slavery.  —  Bat  the  three  groschen  he  asked  for  it, 
appeared  to  the  soldier  to  be  too  much,  at  which  Richard 
said  impatiently : 

"  Well,  you  stingy  fellow,  if  you  think  so,  we  will  not 
chaffer  about  trifles.  I  shall  be  satisfied,  if  you  are.  Give 
me  a  single  groschen  then,  and  take  the  thing."  So  the 
bargain  was  closed,  the  money  paid,  and  the  little  Satan 
delivered  up. 

While  the  soldiers  continued  standing  a  little  way  off, 
observing  and  laughing  at  this  whimsical  sale  and  purchase, 
Richard  reflected  upon  his  future  fate.  He  now  stood 
there  with  a  light  heart,  indeed,  but  at  the  same  time  with 
pockets  as  light,  and  with  no  fair  prospect  of  improving 
his  condition ;  for  he  could  not  venture  to  return  to  his 
company  of  horsemen,  where  his  attendants  yet  remained 
with  weapons,  horses,  and  a  large  sum  of  money.  This 
was  partly  ow7ing  to  shame  on  account  of  his  disgraceful 
flight,  and  partly  because  he  feared  being  shot  as  a  desert- 
er according  to  martial  law.  Then  the  thought  occurred 
to  him,  whether  it  would  not  be  wise  to  change  sides,  and 


135 

go  at  once  with  these  soldiers  to  their  army.  He  had 
learned  from  their  talk,  that  they  belonged  to  the  other 
party,  where  no  one  would  know  him ;  and  having  dis- 
posed of  his  demon,  he  was  now  well  pleased,  destitute 
as  he  was  of  money,  and  unlucky  as  his  experiment  in 
war  had  been,  to  hazard  his  life  on  any  adventure  of  prom- 
ise. He  expressed  his  desire,  they  consented  to  what  he 
proposed,  and  he  went  with  his  new  companions  to  their 
camp. 


CHAPTER  V 


RESORT  TO  DICE.     FIVE  HALF-PENCE  AND  FIVE  CARTRIDGES. 

THE  RICHEST  MAN  IN  THE  WORLD  PERISHING 

FOR  WANT  OF  A  FARTHING. 


The  captain  made  little  or  no  difficulty  in  receiving  a 
young  fellow  of  so  fine  a  form  and  so  muscular  a  frame, 
as  Richard,  and  he  now  passed  his  life  for  some  time  as 
a  foot-soldier.  But  still  he  was  often  a  prey  to  dejection 
and  grief.  Ever  since  the  last  engagement,  the  two  ar- 
mies had  lain  inactive  over  against  each  other,  as  a  treaty 
of  peace  was  on  foot  between  the  two  states.  He  was 
not  now,  to  be  sure,  exposed  to  the  danger  of  death,  but 
at  the  same  time  he  had  just  as  little  opportunity  of  plun- 
der and  booty.  He  was  obliged  to  live  within  the  camp 
in  peaceful  inaction,  his  pay  very  slender,  and  his  portion  of 
food  equally  small.  In  addition  to  these  circumstances, 
most  of  the  soldiers  had  possessed  themselves  of  consider- 
able plunder  during  the  progress  of  the  war ;  and  Richard, 
who,  as  a  merchant,  had  fared  so  sumptuously  as  almost 
to  rival  the  luxury  of  kings,  was  now  compelled  to  make 
shift,  as  it  were,  with  the  scanty  subsistence  of  a  beggar. 
This  was  a  kind  of  life,  of  which  he  was  naturally  enough 
soon  -weary  ;  and  when  he  one  day  held  in  his  hand  his 
pittance  of  wages  for  a  month,  —  too  little  to  support  him 
in  comfort,  too  much  to  hazard  for  nothing  at  all,  —  he 
resolved  to  go  to  the  sutler's  tent,  and  see  whether  dice 
would  not  be  more  propitious  to  him,  than  business  and 
war  had  hitherto  been. 

Richard's  course  of  playing   discovered  the   usual  vari- 


137 

•ety  of  fortune  :  now  winning,  and  then  losing,  he  contin- 
ued at  the  gaming  table  till  late  at  night,  by  which  time 
he  had  become  not  a  litle  intoxicated.  But  at  last  every 
throw  of  the  dice  went  against  him  in  his  present  condi- 
tion ;  his  month's  wages  were  all  played  away,  and  no 
one  would  give  him  credit  for  even  a  half-penny.  He  then 
rummaged  all  his  pockets,  and  finding  them  empty,  he 
at  last  opened  his  cartridge-box,  where  was  nothing  but 
cartridges.  He  produced  these,  and  offered  them  as  a 
stake ;  they  were  accepted,  and  the  moment  the  dice 
rolled  upon  the  table,  the  tipsy  Richard  saw  for  the  first 
time,  that  the  same  soldier  had  thrown  upon  them,  who  had 
some  time  before  purchased  his  imp-vial  of  him,  and  who 
without  doubt  would  now  become  the  winner  of  them. 
He  would  have  cried  out,  "Hold!"  but  the  dice  were 
already  thrown,  and  had  decided  in  favour  of  his  oppo- 
nent. He  left  the  company  with  curses  on  his  lips,  and 
returned  toward  his  tent  amid  the  darkness  of  night.  A 
comrade,  who  had  also  lost  his  money  in  gambling,  but  who 
had  kept  himself  more  sober,  took  him  by  the  arm. 

As  they  walked  along,  the  man  asked  him  whether  he 
still  had  cartridges  provided  in  his  tent.  "  No,"  cried 
Richard,  almost  maddened  with  rage;  "had  I  the  means 
yet  in  my  power,  be  assured  I  would  return  and  play 
longer." 

"  Ah,  is  that  the  case  ?  "  replied  his  comrade  ;  "then 
you  must  contrive  to  buy  some  more,  for  should  the 
commissary  come  to  the  review,  and  find  a  paid  soldier 
without  cartridges,  he  would   order  him  to  be  shot." 

"  Thunder  and  lightning!  "  exclaimed  Richard,  cursing 
himself,  "  how  was  it  possible  for  me  to  be  so  stupid !  I 
have  neither  cartridges,  nor  money  to  buy  any." 

"  Why,"  rejoined  his  companion,  "  the  commissary 
does  not  come  these  four  or  five  months." 

"  Oh,  then  all  is  safe,"  thought  Richard  ;  "  before  that 
time  I  receive  my  pay  again,  and  shall  be  able  to  buy 
cartridges  to  my  heart's  content."  Upon  this  they  bade 
each  other  good  night,  and  Richard  lay  down  to  sleep  off 
the  excesses  of  the  evening. 

But  he  had  not  lain  long,  ere  the  corporal  came  and 
shouted  before  the  tent :  "  Holla  within  there  !  tomorrow 
12* 


138 

is  muster  day  ;  the  commissary  will  be  in  camp  at  day- 
break." 

Richard's  slumber  was  instantly  broken.  Though 
quite  bewildered  by  intemperance,  he  still  felt  the  loss  of 
his  cartridges  blending  with  the  confusion  of  his  senses. 
He  went  round  to  his  comrades  of  the  tent,  and  anxiously 
inquired,  whether  any  one  would  lend  them,  or  sell  them 
to  him  on  trust.  But  they  cursed  him  for  a  night-revelling 
tippler,  and  sent  him  back  to  his  straw.  In  extreme  an- 
guish, through  fear  of  being  shot  in  the  morning,  he 
searched  for  money  in  every  garment  he  possessed,  but 
was  unable  to  find  among  them  all  more  than  five  half- 
pence. With  these  he  now  ran  stumbling  from  tent  to  tent 
amid  the  obscurity  of  night,  and  tried  to  buy  cartridges. 
Some  laughed,  others  abused  him,  but  no  one  gave  him  so 
much  as  an  answer  to  his  request. 

At  length  he  came  to  a  tent,  from  which  the  voice  of 
the  soldier,  who  had  won  his  cartridges  an  hour  or  two  be- 
fore, saluted  him  with  curses.  "  Comrade,"  cried  Richard 
in  a  moving  accent,  "  either  you  can  assist  me,  or  no  one. 
You  took  my  all  last  evening,  and  aided  others  before  in 
plundering  me.  Should  the  commissary  find  me  without 
cartridges  in  the  morning,  he  would  give  orders  for  my 
being  shot.  You  are  the  cause  of  all  my  misery.  Give 
them  to  me  then,  or  lend  them  to  me,  or  sell  them  to  me, 
whichever  you  will." 

"  Either  to  give  or  lend,  is  what  I  have  sworn  never  to 
do,"  replied  the  soldier  ;  "  but,  to  be  freed  from  the  trouble 
of  you,  I  will  sell  you  the  cartridges.  How  much  money 
have  you  ? " 

"  Only  five  half-pence,"  answered  Richard  in  a  mourn- 
ful tone. 

"Well,"  said  the  soldier,  "  that  you  may  see  I  am  a 
friendly  fellow,  there  you  have  five  cartridges  for  your  five 
half-pence,  and  now  to  bed  again,  and  leave  me  and  the 
camp  in  quiet." 

Saying  this,  he  reached  him  the  cartridges  out  of  the 
tent,  while  Richard  handed  him  in  the  money,  and  then 
with  a  mind  relieved  he  went  back,  and  slept  undisturbed 
till  morning. 

The  inspection  took   place,  and  Richard   got  through 


139 

with  bis  five  cartridges ;  toward  noon  the  commissary 
departed,  and  the  soldiers  returned  to  the  camp.  But  the 
sun  burnt  insupportably  through  the  canvass  tent,  and  the 
companions  of  Richard  went  to  the  sutler's,  while  he  re- 
mained himself  sitting  at  home  with  empty  pockets,  and 
gnawing  a  piece  of  the  commissary's  crust,  faint  and  ill 
with  the  excess  of  the  preceding  day  and  his  fatigue  of 
the  present. 

"Ah,"  said  he  with  a  sigh,  "  would  to  Heaven  I  had 
only  one  ducat,  —  only  one  of  all  those  I  have  squandered 
in  a  way  so  thoughtless  and  wasteful !  "  when  hardly  had 
he  breathed  the  wish,  and  a  bright  ducat  lay  in  his  left 
hand.  Thought  of  the  vial-genie  now  shot  through 
his  mind,  embittering  all  his  joy,  as  he  felt  the  heavy  piece 
of  gold  in  his  palm.  That  instant  his  fellow-soldier,  who 
had  let  him  have  the  cartridges  in  the  night,  entered  the 
tent  all  in  a  flurry,  and  said  :  "  Friend,  you  know  that 
vial  with  its  little  black  tumbler;  —  you  must  remember  I 
some  time  ago  bought  it  of  you  in  the  wood ;  —  it  has 
disappeared.  Did  I  give  it  to  you  unawares  instead  of  a 
cartridge  ?  I  had  wrapped  it  in  paper  like  my  cartridges, 
and  laid  it  away  with  them." 

Richard  searched  his  cartridge-box  in  alarm,  and  the 
very  first  paper  he  took  up  and  unwrapped,  contained  the 
slender  vial  and  his  fearful  slave. 

"  Well,  that  is  lucky,"  cried  the  soldier,  "  I  should  have 
been  very  sorry  to  lose  him,  glum  as  he  looks ;  it  always 
seems  to  me,  that  he  brings  me  extraordinary  good  luck 
at  play.  There,  comrade,  take  your  half-penny  again, 
and  give  the  creature  to  me."  Richard,  with  all  the  haste 
in  his  power,  complied  with  his  request,  and  the  soldier 
hurried  well  pleased  to  the  tent  of  the  sutler.  But  the 
unhappy  Richard,  from  the  moment  he  had  seen  the  vial- 
fiend  again,  held  him  in  his  hands,  and  carried  him  about 
with  him,  endured  a  misery  amounting  to  horrour.  Such 
was  his  dread,  that  he  thought  the  demon  must  be  grinning 
at  him  from  every  fold  of  the  tent,  and  while  he  was  una- 
ware, might  strangle  him  in  his  sleep.  The  ducat,  which 
only  a  wish  had  called  into  his  possession,  he  threw  from 
him  in  his  agony  of  alarm,  however  extreme  his  need  of 
refreshment  might  be ;  and  at  last  the  fear  that  the  genie 


140 

might  be  nestling  so  near  him  again,  drove  him  far  out  of 
the  camp,  and  by  evening  twilight  he  had  hurried  into  the 
darkest  recesses  of  a  wood,  where,  exhausted  by  terrour 
and  fatigue,  he  sunk  down  on  a  desert  spot. 

"  Oh  miserable  man  !  "  he  sighed,  parched  with  thirst, 
"  would  to  God  I  only  had  a  canteen  of  water  to  keep  me 
from  fainting ! "  And  a  canteen  of  water  stood  by  his 
side.  Scarcely  had  he,  too  eager  to  be  conscious  of  the 
act,  swallowed  a  few  draughts  of  it,  ere  he  asked  himself 
whence  it  could  have  come.  The  wishing  genie  then  flashed 
across  his  mind  again  ;  with  intense  emotion  he  thrust  his 
hand  into  his  pocket,  and  feeling  the  vial  there,  he  sunk 
back,  overpowered  by  terrour  into  a  deep  swoon. 

During  this  swoon-sleep,  the  horrible  dream,  with  which 
he  had  been  afflicted  before,  returned  upon  him  ;  and  the 
demon,  rising  taller  and  taller  from  his  prison,  lay  grinning 
on  his  breast  with  the  weight  of  lead.  He  would  have 
struggled  against  the  fiend,  and  disclaimed  all  connexion 
with  him,  but  the  fiend  cried  with  a  hollow  laugh  :  "  You 
have  bought  me  for  a  half-penny  ;  you  must  now  sell  me 
for  less  ;  otherwise  the  bargain  will  not  hold  good." 

Richard  sprung  upon  his  feet  in  a  cold  horrour,  and 
again  imagined  he  saw  the  shadowy  form,  just  as  it  was 
snuggling  into  the  vial  in  his  pocket.  Half  distracted,  he 
hurled  it  down  the  precipice  of  a  rock,  but  the  moment 
after  felt  it  in  his  pocket  again. 

"  O  woe  !  woe ! "  he  screamed  aloud,  till  the  forest  rung 
amid  the  gloom  of  night ;  "  once  I  viewed  it  as  my  pecu- 
liar happiness,  my  blessed  fortune,  that  the  vial  was  sure 
to  return  to  me  even  from  the  waves  and  deep  waters  ; 
now  it  is  my  misery,  alas,  it  may  be,  my  eternal  misery  ! " 
and  he  began  to  run  through  the  dark  thickets  of  the  wood, 
rushing  against  tree  and  rock  in  the  obscurity,  and  at  every 
step  he  heard  the  vial  clink,  clink  in  his  pocket. 

He  left  the  forest  by  dawn  of  day,  and  came  out  upon  a 
bright,  cheerful,  and  cultivated  plain.  His  heart  was 
deeply  oppressed  with  melancholy,  but  he  began  to  in- 
dulge the  hope,  that  all  this  wild  turmoil  of  his  might  be 
no  more  than  a  dream  of  frenzy  or  delusion  ;  possibly  he 
might  find  the  glass  in  his  pocket  of  a  different  kind,  and 
such  as  was  quite  common.     Drawing  it  forth,  he  held  it 


141 

up  to  the  morning  sun.  Ah,  God  of  heaven  !  there  the 
little  black  devil  was  dancing  away  between  him  and  the 
pleasant  light,  and  stretching  toward  him  as  usual  his  small 
misshapen  arms  like  tongs.  With  a  loud  scream  he  let  the 
vial  drop,  but  only  to  hear  it  the  moment  after  cuddle 
clinking  into  his  pocket  again. 

What  could  he  do  ?  The  sole  and  engrossing  object  of 
his  life  must  now  be  to  search  for  a  coin  of  less  value  than 
a  half-penny,  but  with  all  his  searching  he  could  nowhere 
find  any.  So  that  every  hope  of  selling  his  detested  slave, 
who  now  threatened  soon  to  become  his  master,  vanished. 
He  determined  to  demand  nothing  more  of  this  terrible  de- 
mon, for  every  time  he  attempted  to  do  so,  a  fearful  agony 
took  from  him  both  strength  and  recollection,  and  thus 
then  he  went  begging  up  and  down  throughout  Italy.  As 
he  now  discovered  the  wildest  discomposure  in  his  air,  and 
besides,  while  wandering  on  from  town  to  town,  continual- 
ly kept  asking  for  farthings,  he  was  everywhere  considered 
as  crazy,  and  was  called  nothing  but  the  Mad  Farthing, 
by  which  name  he  was  soon  distinguished  far  and  wide, 


CHAPTER  VI. 


A  RED  HORSEMAN  AND  HIS  BLACK  HORSE.      DUSKY  RAVINE. 

MONSTER  AND  PRINCE.     BLACK  FOUNTAIN. 

THE  DEVIL  OUTWITTED. 


It  is  said  of  vultures,  that  they  sometimes  pounce  upon 
the  necks  of  young  deer  or  of  other  wild  animals,  and  thus 
pursue  their  poor  victim  even  to  death,  clinging  to  him 
and  attacking  him  with  the  most  determined  fierceness,  as 
in  his  flight  of  fear  and  torment  he  rushes  through  bush  and 
brake,  forest  and  ravine.  In  like  manner  fared  the  unhap- 
py Richard  with  his  imp  of  Satan  in  his  pocket  ;  but 
since  it  would  be  too  painful  and  excite  too  much  com- 
miseration to  dwell  upon  the  excess  of  his  sufferings,  I 
shall  say  nothing  more  to  you  respecting  his  long  and 
helpless  flight,  but  relate  only  what  happened  to  him 
many  months  afterward. 

One  afternoon,  having  lost  his  way  on  the  southern 
ascent  of  a  wild  mountain  tract,  he  was  sitting  silent  and 
sorrowful  on  the  margin  of  a  small  stream,  whose  waters, 
trickling  down  among  the  bushy  undergrowth,  seemed  to 
have  a  feeling  of  sympathy  and  compassion  for  him,  and 
to  be  urging  on  their  course  to  soothe  and  refresh  him  ;  — 
when  all  at  once  he  started,  as  if  thrilled  by  an  electric 
shock,  for  the  powerful  tramp  of  a  horse  came  sounding 
over  the  stones  and  rocks  of  the  mountain,  and,  riding  on 
a  high,  black,  wild-looking  courser,  appeared  a  man  of  gi- 
gantic figure,  his  countenance  hideous  in  the  extreme,  his 
garments  magnificent,  and  of  a  blood-red  colour.  He  ap- 
proached the  spot  where  Richard  was  sitting. 

"  Why  so  disconsolate,  friend  ?  "  cried  he,  accosting  the 


143 

young  man,  whose  very  soul  trembled  with  alarm  and  a 
presentiment  of  calamity.  "I  should  take  you  for  a  mer- 
chant.    Have  you  bought  any  goods  too  dear  ? " 

"  Alas  no,  quite  the  contrary ;  my  purchase  has  been 
too  cheap,"  answered  Richard  in  a  low  trembling  voice. 

"  So  also  it  appears  to  me,  my  dear  merchant,"  cried 
the  horseman  with  a  frightful  laugh.  "  And  you  have,  it 
may  be,  a  small  article  to  sell  me  this  evening,  called  a 
vial-genie  ?  Or  do  I  mistake,  when  I  suppose  you  to  be 
the  famous  Mad  Farthing  ?  " 

Hardly  could  the  poor  young  fellow  return  answer, 
with  blanched  lips  and  in  a  subdued  tone,  "  Yes,  I  am  he  :" 
he  shuddered  as  if  he  were  expecting  every  moment  to 
see  the  horseman's  mantle  take  the  form  of  blood-dropping 
wings,  and  his -charger  expand  his  broad  vans  covered  with 
feathers  black  as  night,  and  illumined  by  the  flames  of  hel], 
and  himself,  wretched  man,  be  borne  swiftly  away  to  the 
abode  of  eternal  torment. 

But  the  horseman  went  on  with  a  voice  somewhat  soft- 
ened and  gestures  less  terrible  :  "  I  see  plainly  for  whom 
you  take  me.  Pray  be  comforted ;  I  am  not  he.  So  far 
from  it,  I  may  perhaps  deliver  you  from  his  power,  for  I 
have  been  these  many  days  in  quest  of  you,  with  a  view  to 
make  purchase  of  your  vial-treasure.  You  gave,  it  is  true, 
but  a  cursed  small  piece  of  money  for  it,  and  I  know  not 
myself  where  to  find  a  smaller.  But  listen,  and  mark  what  I 
say  to  you.  On  the  northern  side  of  this  mountain  lives  a 
prince,  a  young  man  of  extravagant  habits.  Tomorrow 
morning,  when  he  goes  out  to  hunt,  I  shall  drive  a  horrible 
monster  upon  him,  the  very  instant  I  succeed  in  withdraw- 
ing him  from  his  train  of  attendants.  Do  you,  meantime, 
remain  here  till  midnight,  and  then,  —  exactly  at  the  mo- 
ment the  moon  rises  over  that  jagged  rock  yonder,  —  set 
off  at  a  moderate  pace  eastward,  along  that  dusky  ravine 
to  the  left.  Neither  loiter  nor  hurry,  and  you  will  arrive 
at  the  place,  just  when  the  monster  has  the  prince  in  his 
clutches.  Do  you  ask  what  next  ?  You  have  only  to  seize 
the  beast  with  a  fearless  grasp,  and  he  will  be  forced  to 
yield  to  you,  and  tumble  headlong  before  you  down  the 
steep  crags  of  the  sea-shore.  Then,  while  the  prince  is 
warm  with   gratitude,  request  him  to  allow  you  to  coin  a 


144 

few  farthings,  exchange  two  of  them  with  me,  and  for  one 
of  them  the  vial-genie  shall  be  mine." 

Thus  spoke  the  terrible  horseman,  and,  without  waiting 
to  receive  an  answer,  rode  slowly  into  the  thickets  of  the 
mountain. 

"  But  where  shall  I  find  you,  when  I  get  the  farthings  ?" 
Richard  shouted  after  him. 

"  At  the  Black  Fountain !  "  shouted  the  horseman  in 
return.  "  Every  nurse  in  the  district  can  tell  you  where 
that  lies." 

And  with  slow,  but  far  reaching  strides,  the  huge  steed 
bore  off  his  hideous  burden. 

For  a  person,  who  is  almost  the  same  as  completely 
ruined,  there  can  be  no  more  room  for  choice  or  hesitation ; 
Richard  resolved  therefore,  in  the  misery  of'his  despair,  to 
comply  with  the  advice  of  the  terrible  horseman. 

Night  came  on,  the  moon  rose,  and  with  its  reddish  lus- 
tre at  length  stood  over  the  craggy  cliff  that  had  been 
pointed  out.  The  pale  wanderer  then  moved  forward, 
trembling,  and  entered  the  dusky  ravine.  All  within  ap- 
peared joyless  and  gloomy  ;  seldom  was  a  moonbeam  ad- 
mitted over  the  lofty  summits  on  either  hand  ;  and  there 
was  a  vapour  in  this  confined  passage,  like  the  effluvia  of 
the  tomb,  but  he  met  with  nothing  else  to  annoy  him. 
Faithful  to  the  horseman's  instructions,  Richard  was  care- 
ful neither  to  linger  nor  hasten,  but  resolved  that  through 
no  fault  of  his  own  would  he  lose  his  hold  on  that  slender 
thread  which  as  yet  connected  him  with  light  and  hope. 

After  the  lapse  of  many  hours,  some  faint  rays  of  morn- 
ing light  beamed  upon  his  obscure  passage,  while  cool  airs 
with  a  comforting  influence  came  breathing  in  his  face. 
But  just  as  he  emerged  from  the  deep  pathway,  and  began 
to  enjoy  the  freshness  of  the  woodlands,  and  the  glimmer- 
ing of  the  blue  sea,  that  lay  only  a  short  distance  from  him, 
a  cry  of  distress  broke  in  upon  his  enjoyment.  Looking 
round,  he  saw  where  a  monstrous  beast  had  thrown  a 
young  man  in  a  rich  hunting  suit  upon  the  ground,  and. 
was  standing  over  him.  Richard's  first  impulse,  indeed, 
was  to  run  and  afford  assistance  ;  but  when  he  fixed  his 
eyes  directly  upon  the  beast,  and  saw  that  he  resembled  a 
fierce  baboon  of  monstrous    size,  and    that   his  head  was 


145 


armed  with  the  prodigious  horns  of  a  hart,  his  courage  all 
forsook  him,  and  he  felt  tempted,  notwithstanding  the 
fallen  stranger's  cry  of  distress  for  help,  to  creep  back  into 
his  ravine  again.  Then  it  was,  that  he  seemed  first  to 
remember  what  the  horseman  had  said  ;  and  impelled  by 
fear  of  eternal  perdition,  he  rushed  upon  the  monster-ape 
with  his  knotted  club.  The  beast  was  just  seizing  the 
hunter  in  his  forepaws,  in  order,  as  it  appeared,  to  throw 
him  up  into  the  air,  and  then  catch  him  upon  his  horns. 
But  the  moment  Richard  drew  near,  he  dropped  his  prey, 
and  scampered  off  with  a  hideous  whistling  and  croaking ; 
while  Richard,  now  grown  fearless,  pursued  him,  till  he 
pitched  headlong  from  the  cliffs  overhanging  the  sea,  (still 
grinning  at  him  as  he  fell,)  and  then  disappeared  beneath 
the  waves. 

The  young  adventurer  now  returned  in  triumph  to  the 
hunter  whom  he  had  rescued,  and  who  before  long  made 
himself  known  as  the  reigning  prince  of  the  country,  pro- 
claiming his  protector  a  hero,  and  entreating  him  boldly  to 
claim  from  him  the  highest  recompense  he  had  the  power 
to  bestow. 

"May  I  indeed  thus  presume?"  cried  Richard  with 
the  inspiration  of  hope  ;  "  can  you  be  serious  ?  and  will 
you  on  your  princely  honour  aid  me,  as  you  can,  in  relation 
to  a  request  I  shall  make  ?  " 

The  prince  cheerfully  renewed  his  promise,  and  gave 
him  all  the  assurance  he  could   desire. 

"Well  then,"  cried  Richard  with  impassioned  eager- 
ness, "  pray,  for  God's  sake  allow  me  to  coin  a  few  far- 
things, good  current  money,  even  if  not  more  than  two." 

While  the  prince  was  yet  looking  upon  him  in  perfect 
astonishment,  some  of  his  train  came  up,  to  whom  he  rela- 
ted all  that  had  happened  ;  and  one  of  them  immediately 
knew  Richard  to  be  the  Mad  Farthing,  whom  he  had 
formerly  seen. 

l^jOn  receiving  this  information,  the  prince  began  to  laugh, 
^*«4>  the  unhappy  Richard  embraced  his  knees  with  the 
most  intense  anguish,  and  appealed  to  heaven  for  the  truth 
of  what  he  said,  that  without  the  farthings  he  should  be  a 
lost  man. 

13 


146 

But  the  prince  replied,  still  laughing :  "  Rise,  my 
friend,  dismiss  all  fear ;  you  have  my  princely  word,  and 
if  you  persist  in  making  this  request,  I  permit  you  to  coin 
as  many  farthings  as  you  please.  But  were  it  equally 
agreeable  to  you,  instead  of  these,  to  get  a  piece  of  money 
worth  one  third  of  a  penny,  you  would  have  no  occasion 
for  coining  ;  for  the  neighbouring  states  complain,  that  the 
half-pence  of  mine  are  so  light,  that  three  of  them  pass  for 
two  common  ones." 

"  I  should  be  but  too  happy  to  get  a  few  of  those  half- 
pence, were  I  only  sure  of  their  inferiour  value,"  said 
Richard,  in  doubt. 

«  Why,"  replied  the  prince,  "you  are  the  first  person, 
that  ever  considered  them  as  worth  too  much.  But  not- 
withstanding this,  should  you  light  upon  any  such,  then  I 
give  you  my  solemn  word,  before  these  witnesses,  to  per- 
mit you  to  coin  still  worse, ...  if  indeed  we  can  suppose 
that  to  be  possible." 

Saying  this,  he  commanded  an  attendant  to  give  Rich- 
ard a  whole  purse  of  the  half-pence  of  the  country. 

Thus  provided,  he  ran,  as  if  the  evil  one  were  in  pur- 
suit of  him,  to  the  bordering  frontier  of  the  prince's  terri- 
tory, and  was  a  happier  man  than  he  had  been  for  a  long 
period,  when,  at  the  first  public  house  of  the  neighbouring 
state,  he  received,  though  not  without  some  difficulty  and 
delay,  two  common  half-pence  for  three  of  the  prince's, 
which  he  got  exchanged  merely  to  ascertain  their  current 
value. 

He  now  in  a  hurried  voice  inquired  for  the  Black 
Fountain,  when  several  children  who  were  playing  in  the 
common  apartment  for  guests,  ran  screaming  from  the 
room.  The  host  informed  him,  though  almost  shudder- 
ing himself  as  he  spoke,  that  this  place  was  notorious  as 
one  of  a  very  bad  and  alarming  character,  from  which 
many  evil  spirits  were  wont  to  go  forth  into  the  land,  and 
which  few  men  had  ever  personally  seen.  He  knew  it 
well  himself:  the  entrance  leading  to  it,  was  not  far 
distant  from  where  they  were,  a  cave  with  two  dead 
cypresses  before  it,  and  he  could  not  miss  the  way,  if  he 
entered  there, — but  from  that  peril  might  God  preserve 
him  and  all  true  Christians  ! 


147 

It  must  be  acknowledged,  that,  on  hearing  this  account, 
Richard  became  extremely  alarmed  again ;  but  still,  come 
monster,  come  fiend,  he  was  resolved  to  hazard  the  ad- 
venture, and  therefore  set  off  to  achieve  it.  While  he 
was  yet  afar  off,  the  cave  looked  very  dark  and  dismal  ; 
it  almost  seemed  as  if  the  two  dead  cypresses  over  the 
horrible  abyss,  which  disclosed  to  him  as  he  approached  a 
wonderful  rock  at  its  opening,  had  been  withered  and  killed 
with  terrour.  This  rock  appeared  full  of  faces,  distorted, 
long-bearded,  and  baboon-like,  some  of  which  bore  a  strong 
resemblance  to  the  ape-monster  he  had  encountered  on  the 
cliffs  of  the  sea  shore.' JA»4  when  he  looked  directly  in, 
nothing  was  visible  but  jagged  and  cracked  veins  of  rock. 
The  poor  fellow  stepped  in,  trembling,  beneath  these  fearful 
forms.  The  vial-fiend  in  his  pocket  now  became  so 
heavy,  that  it  seemed  to  be  pulling  him  back.  But  this 
only  inspired  him  with  a  new  rush  of  courage  ;  "  for," 
thought  he,  "just  what  my  enemy  would  not  desire,  that 
must  I  strive  to  do." 

Deeper  within  the  cave,  so  thick  a  darkness  met  his 
view,  that  he  soon  lost  sight  of  the  frightful  figures 
entirely.  To  avoid  plunging  down  some  unknown  and 
abrupt  descent,  he  cautiously  felt  his  way  before  him  with 
a  staff;  he  found  nothing,  however,  but  a  soft,  smooth, 
moss-grown  bottom  ;  and  had  not  a  strange  whistling  and 
croaking  now  and  then  sounded  through  the  cavern,  he 
would  have  been  preserved  from  every  semblance  of 
alarm. 

At  length  he  got  through  the  passage.  A  desolate 
scene,  resembling  a  deep  mountain  chasm  or  crater,  in- 
closed him  in  on  every  side.  On  the  left  hand,  he  saw 
the  huge  and  terrific  black  steed  of  the  giant  who  prom- 
ised to  purchase  his  wishing  genie,  standing  unfastened, 
wTith  head  high-raised,  like  a  brazen  statue,  neither  feed- 
ing nor  moving.  On  the  right  hand,  flowed  a  fountain 
from  the  rock,  in  which  the  horseman  was  washing  his 
head  and  hands.  But  the  evil  stream  was  as  black  as 
ink,  and  possessed  the  same  colouring  quality ;  for  as  the 
giant  turned  toward  Richard,  his  hideous  countenance 
was  that  of  a  perfect  blackamoor,  and  formed  a  fearful 
contrast  with  the  richness  of  his  splendid  crimson  attire. 


148 

"  Do  not  tremble,  my  young  hero,"  said  the  dreadful 
form.  "  This  is  one  of  the  ceremonies,  which  I  am 
forced  to  perform  to  please  the  devil.  Every  Friday  I  am 
obliged  to  wash  here  in  this  manner,  in  defiance  and  mock- 
ery of  Him,  whom  you  call  your  gracious  Creator.  In 
the  same  manner,  too,  I  am  compelled  to  tinge  the  purple 
of  my  red  robe,  whenever  I  have  occasion  for  a  new  one, 
with  a  devilish  deal  of  my  own  blood,  little  less  than  a 
bucketful,  —  from  which  it  acquires  its  wonderfully  gor- 
geous hue,  —  and  this  is  the  most  burdensome  condition 
of  all.  What  is  yet  worse,  I  have  so  firmly  signed 
and  sealed  myself  over  to  him,  body  and  soul,  that  it  is 
impossible  to  think  of  any  deliverance.  And  do  you 
know  what  the  curmudgeon  gives  me  for  all  this  ?  A  hun- 
dred thousand  pieces  of  gold  a  year.  I  cannot  subsist 
upon  this  pittance,  and  this  is  the  reason  I  wish  to  pur- 
chase your  gentleman  of  the  vial,  just  to  serve  the  old 
niggard  a  clever  trick.  For  observe,  he  is  sure  of  my 
soul  already,  and  the  little  devil  in  the  vial,  after  his  long 
period  of  slavery,  must  hereafter  return  to  hell  without 
having  in  the  least  accomplished  his  purpose.  Then  what 
a  rage  will  seize  the  grim  dragon  !  and  what  a  glorious 
cursing-bout  will  he  have  !  "  And  he  set  up  such  a  shout 
of  laughter,  that  the  rocks  rebellowed,  and  even  the  black 
horse,  that  stood  so  motionless,  shrunk  and  shuddered  at 
every  explosion. 

"  Well,"  he  asked,  again  turning  to  Richard,  "  have  you 
brought  your  farthings,  partner  ? " 

"  I  am  no  partner  of  yours,"  answered  Richard,  half  in 
fear  and  half  in  bravado,  while  he  opened  his  purse. 

"  Ah,  don't  affect  so  much  superiority,"  cried  the  giant 
purchaser.  "  Who  drove  the  monster  upon  the  prince, 
that  you  might  gain  the  victory  ? " 

"  All  that  bustle  and  hobgoblin  business  were  unneces- 
sary," answered  Richard  ;  and  he  related  how  the  prince 
had  not  only  promptly  consented  to  let  him  coin  fourths  of 
a  penny,  but  had  provided  him  with  thirds  that  were  coined 
already. 

The  red  man  appeared  to  be  chagrined,  that  he  had 
given  himself  the  needless  trouble  of  conjuring  up  the  mon- 
ster.    He  nevertheless  exchanged  two  good  half-pence  for 


149 

three  of  the  bad  ones,  gave  back  Richard  one  of  the  latter, 
and  received  the  vial  instead  of  it :  the  vial  fell  from  his 
pocket  with  its  excessive  weight,  and  the  imp  lay  at  the 
bottom  in  deep  dudgeon,  miserably  doubled  together  neck 
and  heels.  Upon  this  the  buyer  raised  another  shout  of 
laughter,  and  exclaimed  :  "All  this  can  afford  you  no  help, 
Satan ;  gold,  gold  here,  as  much  as  my  black  courser  can 
carry  beside  myself."  And  instantly  the  monstrous  beast 
groaned  beneath  a  heavy  burden  of  gold.  Still  he  received 
his  master  also,  and  then,  like  a  fly  that  goes  up  the  wall 
toward  the  ceiling,  he  went  directly  up  the  perpendicular 
rock,  but  at  the  same  time  with  motions  and  distortions  so 
horrible,  that  Richard  could  not  help  fleeing  swiftly  from 
the  spot,  and  rushing  back  into  the  cavern,  that  he  might 
see  nothing  more  of  him. 

As  soon  as  he  had  come  out  again,  on  the  eastern  side 
of  the  mountain,  and  run  on  a  great  distance  from  the 
abyss,  his  whole  soul  was  filled  with  the  rapturous  feeling 
of  his  deliverance.  He  felt  in  his  heart,  that  he  had  made 
expiation  for  the  grievous  offences,  which  he  had  commit- 
ted since  leaving  his  home,  and  that  henceforward  no  vial- 
fiend  could  any  more  embitter  his  being.  He  threw  him- 
self for  joy  among  the  high  grass,  played  caressingly  with 
the  flowers,  and  kissed  his  hand  to  the  sun.  His  heart, 
relieved  from  its  paroxysm  of  terrour,  was  again  serene 
and  lively  within  him,  but,  at  the  same  time,  he  neither 
cherished  nor  discovered  aught  of  his  former  shameless 
levity  and  proneness  to  evil.  Although  he  could  now 
boast,  and  with  some  justice,  that  he  had  outwitted  the 
devil  himself,  this  was  a  feat  on  which  he  was  far  from 
priding  "himself.  Yes,  he  was  a  true  penitent :  he  directed 
the  whole  energy  of  his  renovated  powers  to  the  grand 
purpose  of  existence,  how  he  should  henceforth  pass  his 
life  in  the  world  as  a  pious,  respectable,  and  cheerful  man. 
He  succeeded  so  well  in  effecting  this  purpose,  that,  after 
some  years  of  laborious  exertion,  he  was  able  to  return 
home  to  his  dear  Germany  an  opulent  merchant,  where  he 
married  a  wife,  and  in  his  blessed  old  age  often  related  to 
his  grandchildren  and  great-grandchildren  the  story  of  his 
accursed  vial-genie,  as  a  warning  full  of  instruction, 
13* 


THE    COLLIER-FAMILY; 

OR, 

RED-MANTLE  AND  THE  MERCHANT. 


CHAPTER  I 


A  MERCHANT,  A  COLLIER,  AND  A  LITTLE  OLD  MAN. 


Berthold  was  a  German  merchant,  who  is  said  to 
have  once  met  with  the  following  remarkable  adventure  ; 
an  adventure,  which,  even  if  not  warranted  in  all  its 
minute  circumstances  to  be  fact,  still  for  various  reasons 
well  deserves  to  be  related. 

He  had  become  bewildered,  one  evening,  in  an  exten- 
sive mountain  forest  of  our  fatherland  ;  and  as  he  ven- 
tured, at  that  time,  to  run  many  risques  for  the  rapid 
increase  of  his  fortune,  he  carried  behind  him  on  his  horse 
a  considerable  amount  of  property  in  jewels,  bills  of 
exchange,  and  ready  money ;  and  therefore,  on  the  ap- 
proach of  night,  he  began  to  be  fearful  of  travelling  through 
a  dusky  valley,  alone  and  on  an  unknown  track.  He  saw 
that  he  had  wandered  away  into  a  narrow  and  unfrequented 
pass ;  for  the  wild  animals  there  were  not  in  the  least 
afraid  of  him,  and  owls  hooted  and  screeched  so  close 
above  him,  that  he  often  dodged  his  head,  before  he  thought 
of  it,  to  avoid  their  fearless  flight  and  the  hateful  flapping 
of  their  wings. 

*  After  proceeding  some  time  in  this  defile,  he  at  length 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  man,  who  was  passing  with  sturdy 
step  along  the  footpath  before  him,  and  who,  on  his  making 
such  inquiries  as  were  natural  in  his  situation,  told  the 
merchant  he  was  a  collier,  and  that  he   dwelt  there  with 


151 

his  family  in  the  forest.  The  traveller  immediately 
requested  a  lodging  for  the  night  and  direction  for  his 
journey  on  the  morrow ;  and  so  cordial  was  the  man  in 
complying  with  his  wishes,  that  all  mistrust  vanished,  and 
they  reached  the  little  cottage  extremely  well  pleased  with 
each  other.  The  mistress  of  the  family  came  out  of  the 
door  with  a  lamp,  and  behind  her  appeared  the  good-hu- 
moured, downright  honest  faces  of  the  children,  a  crowd  of 
boys  and  girls ;  and  the  rays  of  the  light  that  fell  upon  the 
countenance  of  the  host,  discovered  such  confiding  features, 
such  genuine  traits  of  the  old-German  stamp,  as,  thank 
heaven,  we  are  still  allowed  to  meet  with  every  where 
among  our  people. 

They  entered  the  bright,  warm  room  together,  and  seated 
themselves  round  the  common  hearth,  where  the  traveller 
felt  as  little  anxiety  on  account  of  the  rich  merchandise  he 
carried  with  him,  as  if  he  had  come  home  to  his  father  and 
mother,  his  brothers  and  sisters.  He  merely  unbuckled 
his  baggage  from  his  horse,  and  thus,  willingly  intrusted 
him  to  the  care  of  a  son  of  the  collier.  He  set  away  his 
burden  in  the  nearest  convenient  corner  of  the  room  ;  and 
though  he  placed  his  weapons  close  behind  him,  it  was 
more  owing  to  the  commendable  old  custom  of  travellers, 
than  to  his  fearing  the  possibility  of  having  occasion  to 
make  use  of  such  things  there. 

They  now  entertained  one  another  with  talk  on  various 
subjects  ;  the  merchant  gave  some  account  of  his  journeys, 
and  the  collier,  in  a  ready  but  modest  manner,  spoke  of 
the  forest,  and  his  family  that  lived  there.  The  collier 
sent  one  of  his  boys  to  draw  a  pitcher  of  his  sparkling 
perry ;  and  as  they  passed  from  talking  to  singing,  from 
stories  to  songs,  they  tasted  its  flavour  with  better  and  bet- 
ter relish.  The  collier's  children  were  just  striking  up  a 
merry  roundelay,  when  a  strange  knocking  was  heard  at 
the  door.  The  person  who  stood  without,  tapped  the  pan- 
nel  with  the  lowest  touch  possible ;  but  the  faint  sound  was 
notwithstanding  distinctly  heard  through  the  room,  and  was 
audible  even  through  the  clear  jubilee-song  of  the  young 
voices.  The  children  stopped  singing,  and  made  a  pause 
in  their  merriment,  while  the  master  of  the  house  cried 
with  a  tone  of  cordial  welcome :  "  Come  in,  come  in, 
father,  in  the  name  of  God  !  " 


152 

Upon  this,  a  little  old  man  of  gentle  manners  came  softly- 
stealing  in  at  the  door,  and  greeted  them  all  very  courte- 
ously, except  that  he  eyed  the  stranger  with  something  of 
surprise.  He  then  went  up  to  the  round  table,  and  took 
the  lowest  place,  which  appeared  to  have  been  left  for 
him  unoccupied.  Berthold  in  his  turn  could  not  help 
being  surprised  at  him.  For  the  garments  he  wore, 
seemed  to  be  of  the  fashion  of  very  ancient  times ;  yet 
they  were  neither  faded  nor  torn,  but  appeared  perfectly 
fresh.  As  I  have  already  said,  he  was  exceedingly  small, 
but  of  an  agreeable  countenance,  which  was  touched  at 
the  same  time  with  an  air  of  deep  melancholy.  The 
family  viewed  him  with  great  compassion,  but  quite  as 
an  old  acquaintance.  Berthold  would  fain  have  asked, 
whether  he  might  not  be  the  grandfather  of  the  family, 
and  whether  he  were  not  suffering  from  some  disease, 
that  made  him  look  so  wan  and  wobegone  ;  but  as  often 
as  he  would  have  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  the  old 
man  fixed  his  eye  upon  him  with  a  gaze  half  timid  and 
half  displeased,  which  looked  so  very  peculiar,  that  Ber- 
thold  thought  it  best  to  keep  a  profound  silence. 

At  last  the  old  man  folded  his  hands,  as  if  preparing  for 
the  act  of  devotion,  looked  toward  the  master  of  the  house, 
and  spoke  in  a  very  hoarse  voice  :  "  Now  pray,  if  you  have 
nothing  to  prevent  you  ;  it  is  the  hour  of  prayer." — The 
collier  immediately  began  that  fine  old  hymn, 

1  Now  all  the  woods  are  sleeping,' 

in  which  the  children  and  their  mother  united  their  voices ; 
and  the  weird-looking  old  man  too  joined  in,  and  in  truth 
with  a  voice  of  such  power,  that  it  seemed  to  make  the 
cottage  tremble,  and  any  person,  not  accustomed  to  it, 
would  have  been  astonished  at  its  force.  Such  was  the 
surprise  of  Berlhold,  that  at  first  he  found  it  impossible  to 
fall  in  with  the  music.  At  this  the  little  old  man  appeared 
to  be  displeased  and  alarmed ;  he  darted  suspicious  glances 
at  Berthold,  and  the  collier,  by  making  earnest  signs,  tried 
to  encourage  him  to  join  them  in  their  singing.  At  last  he 
did  join  them,  and  they  all  finished  the  hymn  in  a  happy 
devotional  spirit ;  and  after  several  more  prayers  and  hymns, 
the  little  old  man  went  out  at  the  door,  bowing  and  hum- 
ble as  he  had  come  in.     But  the  moment  the  latch  had 


153 

caught,  he  burst  the  door  open  again,  threw  a  look  of  fear- 
ful wildness  upon  Berthold,  and  then  slammed  it  to  with 
violence. 

"  That  is  altogether  different  from  his  usual  behaviour," 
cried  the  collier  in  astonishment,  and  then  turned  to  his 
guest  with  some  words  of  excuse.  Berthold  imagined, 
that  the  old  gentleman  was  probably  somewhat  touched  in 
his  mind. 

"  That  cannot  be  denied/'  answered  the  collier,  "  but 
he  is  harmless,  and  never  does  injury  to  any  one.  At  any 
rate,  I  have  not  for  a  long  while  seen  in  him  the  least  ap- 
pearance of  evil. — The  only  little  chamber,  however, 
that  I  can  offer  you,"  he  continued,  "has  a  door  that  does 
not  shut  very  tight,  and  the  old  man  often  comes  into  it. 
But  don't  let  that  trouble  you;  only  be  careful  and  not  dis- 
turb him,  and  he  will  go  out  again  of  his  own  accord. 
Besides,  I  think  it  likely  you  are  too  tired  to  be  easily 
awoke  by  his  movements  ;  for  he  glides  in  and  out,  as  you 
may  have  already  observed  this  evening,  with  extraordina- 
ry lightness." 

Berthold  assented  with  a  smile  on  his  lips,  but  his  heart 
was  far  from  being  as  tranquil  as  before,  although  without 
his  exactly  knowing  the  reason  why ;  and  as  his  host  light- 
ed him  up  the  narrow  stairs,  he  pressed  his  portmanteau 
close  to  his  side,  and  kept  his  eye,  though  unperceived, 
upon  his  pistols  and  hanger. 

They  entered  the  small  chamber  above,  through  which 
the  wind  was  rushing ;  and  the  collier,  after  he  had  hung 
up  a  lamp  so  carefully,  as  to  afford  his  guest  light  without 
danger  of  fire,  and  after  wishing  him  the  divine  blessing  on 
his  night's  rest,  soon  left  him  alone. 


CHAPTER  II 


RED-MANTLE,  AND  WHO  HE   WAS.       HOW  TO  LAY 
AN  EVIL  SPIRIT. 


The  wish,  however,  expressed  by  Berthold's  host, 
seemed  to  fail  of  its  due  effect  upon  him.  Seldom  or 
never  had  his  mind  been  so  uneasy  and  discomposed. 
Great  as  was  his  fatigue,  and  immediate  as  was  his  retiring 
to  bed,  still  it  was  impossible  to  think  of  sleeping.  Now 
his  portmanteau  lay  too  far  from  him,  now  his  weapons, 
and  now  again  both  were  so  placed,  that  his  hand  could 
not  conveniently  grasp  them.  More  than  once  he  rose 
and  bent  over  them,  and  if  he  fell  into  a  slumber  for  a 
moment,  he  started  up  as  every  gust  of  wind  swept  over 
the  roof,  now  dimly  apprehending  some  terrible  disaster, 
and  now  expecting  some  lucky  contingence,  equally 
improbable.  His  commercial  schemes  and  speculations  all 
kept  floating  in  his  brain,  and  became  so  blended  together 
in  his  drowsiness,  as  to  produce  a  whirl  and  stunning  din, 
from  which  he  was  unable  to  free  himself,  so  as  to  sepa- 
rate and  consider  the  points  of  his  business  distinctly.  In 
addition  to  this,  he  had  never  felt  a  greediness  of  gain  so 
strong  and  engrossing,  as  in  his  peculiar  circumstances  of 
the  present  moment ;  but,  notwithstanding  all  this,  he  at 
length  sunk  into  a  slumber,  which  might  perhaps  with 
more  propriety  be  called  a  swoon-like  weakness  or 
fainting. 

It  may  have  been  past  midnight,  when  he  thought  he 
every  now  and  then  heard  a  slight  stir  and  moving  in  the 
chamber.  But  weariness  would  not  relax  from  its  long 
disputed  sway.     Once  too,  when  he  opened  his  heavy  eye* 


155 

lids,  and  it  appeared  evident  to  him,  that  the  little  old  man 
was  coursing  up  and  down  not  far  from  the  bed,  the  con- 
clusion of  his  drowsy  mind  was  this :  '  He  has  made  a 
mistake,  and,  besides,  this  is  exactly  what  the  collier  warned 
me  to  expect.5 

At  last  the  interruptions  of  the  merchant's  rest  became 
too  frequent  to  be  borne ;  a  terrour,  like  a  sudden  blow, 
dispersed  all  his  sleepiness ;  he  sat  up  in  his  bed  with  wide- 
staring  eyes,  and  saw  the  old  man  of  the  evening  busying 
himself  with  the  portmanteau,  at  the  same  time  looking 
towards  him  with  an  air  of  contempt. 

"  Hands  off,  robber  !  back  from  my  baggage  !  "  shouted 
the  merchant  in  wrath  and  alarm.  The  old  man  appeared 
to  be  much  terrified.  He  moved  swiftly  toward  the  door, 
seemed  to  be  in  an  agony  of  prayer,  and  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye  was  out  of  the  chamber. 

It  was  now  Berthold's  most  pressing  concern  to  exam- 
ine his  portmanteau,  and  ascertain  whether  he  had  lost  any 
thing  by  the  old  man's  intrusion.  He  could  not  consider 
him  as  a  robber,  indeed,  but  whether  as  a  madman,  he 
might  not,  in  his  childish  folly,  have  put  his  brilliant  dia- 
monds and  other  precious  stones  in  his  pocket,  or  have 
tossed  about  his  valuable  papers,  —  that  was  another  ques- 
tion. The  pad-locks  and  straps  appeared  to  be  well  se- 
cured, and  after  he  had  removed  them,  he  found  all  in  the 
best  order.  But  the  restless  inquietude  of  Berthold  again 
returned ;  something,  he  feared,  might  be  yet  lost  or  des- 
troyed on  his  journey ;  and  he  extended  his  views  further 
and  further  onward,  comforting  himself  with  the  possession 
of  wealth,  at  the  same  time  he  was  dissatisfied  that  he 
possessed  no  more. 

He  was  startled  from  this  dreamlike  eagerness  of  spirit 
by  a  breathing  on  his  cheek.  He  at  first  imagined,  that  it 
might  be  nothing  more  than  the  wind  of  night,  that  forced 
its  way  through  the  ill  secured  window,  and  he  wrapped 
himself  in  his  cloak  the  more  closely.  But  the  breathing 
came  again,  more  perceptible  and  more  startling ;  and  at 
last,  when  he  turned  indignant  to  the  quarter  from  which  it 
came,  he  with  horrour  saw  the  little  old  man's  hairy  face 
nuzzling  near  to  his  own. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ? "  cried  the  merchant ; 
"  creep  to  bed  and  warm  yourself." 


156 

"  I  am  still  colder  there,"  croaked  the  hoarse  voice  in 
reply,  "and  I  like  to  see  such  beautiful  things  as  you  have 
here.  But  I  know,  to  be  sure,  where  there  are  finer,  ah 
yes,  much  finer  still. " 

"  What  mean  you  ?  "  inquired  Berthold  ;  and  he  could 
not  help  reverting  to  his  reverie,  the  extraordinary  luck, 
which  he  had  been  thinking,  in  his  dreamy  slumber,  might 
now  fall  to  his  lot  by  means  of  this  madman. 

"  If  you  will  come  with  me,"  sighed  the  old  man,  "  I 
will  show  you  what  treasures  I  meant.  They  are  below 
there,  far  down  in  the  forest,  near  the  moorland." 

"  Well,  if  I  could  venture  to  go  with  you,"  replied 
Berthold,  "  we  might  set  off." 

Upon  this,  the  old  man  turned  toward  the  door,  and 
added  :  "Just  let  me  get  my  mantle  first;  I  will  be  back 
again  in  a  minute,  and  then  we  will  go." 

Berthold  remained  but  a  moment  in  suspense;  for 
hardly  had  the  old  man  disappeared  from  the  door,  when 
it  was  again  unlatched,  and  a  haggard  giant  of  a  man 
in  a  blood-red  mantle,  with  a  huge  sword  under  his  left 
arm,  and  a  musket  under  his  right,  stalked  solemnly  in. 
Berthold  seized  his  weapons  to  defend  himself. 

"Now  then,"  said  the  red  man,  "  I  am  all  ready:  — 
yes,  you  are  right,  take  your  weapons  along  with  you  ; 
only  make  haste,  that  we  may  get  out  into  the  forest." 

"  Out  with  youl"  cried  Berthold,  "I  will  not  go  out 
with  you.     Where  is  the  little  old  man  ?  " 

"  Why,  pray,  only  look  right  at  me,"  answered  the  red 
man,  and  threw  his  mantle  further  back  from  his  face. 
Berthold  perceived  a  strong  resemblance  between  this 
frightful  apparition  and  the  little  old  man,  almost  as  striking 
as  if  they  were  twin  brothers,  only  in  one  all  looked 
wrathful  and  wasted  to  skin  and  bone,  and  in  the  other, 
all  was  mild  and  tranquil.  But  Berthold  now  believed 
himself  the  dupe  of  treachery,  and  that  his  treasures 
were  inevitably  gone.  He  cried  out :  "  Was  it  your  plan 
to  send  your  fool  of  a  brother  to  ensnare  me  in  your 
nets  ?  You  ought  to  have  more  wit  than  to  defeat  your 
own  fraud.  Your  villany  is  too  shallow,  Sir ;  and  J 
should  be  shallower  still  to  accompany  you." 

"  Say  you  so  ?  "  replied  the  red  man  ;  "  you  will  not 
do  it?     But  you  shall."     And  with  that  he  stretched  forth 


157 

his  arm,  an  arm  of  fearful  length,  to  seize  him.  Berthold, 
in  an  agony  of  terrour,  fired  his  pistol  at  him.  Immedi- 
ately all  was  awake  and  in  brisk  motion  in  the  rooms  be- 
low ;  the  collier  was  heard  hurrying  up  stairs,  and  the  red 
man  fled  swiftly  from  the  door,  while  he  still  turned  and 
threatened  Berthold  with  looks  and  gestures. 

"  In  the  name  of  God,"  cried  the  collier,  rushing  in, 
"  what  have  you  done  to  our  house-spirit  ? " 

"House-spirit!"  cried  Berthold  with  broken  utterance, 
and  eyeing  his  host  with  a  glance  of  suspicion.  For  his 
treasures  in  money  and  articles  of  value  were  still  pro- 
ducing in  his  mind  a  whirl  of  confusion  and  fear ;  and  since 
he  should  now  obtain  no  more,  he  felt  almost  sure  that  he 
must  lose  what  he  possessed  already,  and  that  the  whole 
house  had  conspired  against  him.  But  the  collier  went  on 
and  said  :  "  He  met  me  on  the  stairs  perfectly  monstrous 
in  his  size  and  inflamed  with  fury,  wearing  his  red 
mantle  and  carrying  weapons  of  defence." 

But  when  he  perceived,  that  every  word  he  said,  was 
quite  incomprehensible  to  Berthold,  he  entreated  him  to  go 
down  with  him  to  the  common  apartment,  where  the  whole 
family,  alarmed  by  the  report  of  the  pistol,  had  already 
met;  and  there  he  would  quiet  at  the  same  time  both  his 
household  and  him.  Berthold  did  as  his  host  desired,  and 
took  his  portmanteau  under  bis  left  arm,  his  other  pistol 
loaded  and  cocked  in  his  right  hand,  and  his  remaining 
weapons  in  his  girdle  and  belt.  He  was  the  more  willing 
to  go  down,  since  he  judged,  that  he  would  be  more  secure 
in  the  great  room  near  the  cottage  door,  than  in  the  nar- 
row, confined  chamber  above.  The  people  of  the  house 
eyed  him  with  an  expression  of  doubt,  and  there  was  a 
very  marked  difference  between  their  meeting  now  and 
over-night,  —  the  same  difference  as  between  peace  and 
war.  The  collier,  however,  gave  a  short  account  of  him- 
self in  the  following  words  : 

"  When  I  first  came  here  to  live  in  this  cottage,  the 
house-spirit  never  ceased  to  haunt  it,  driving  about  in  that 
fearful  form,  which  you,  my  guest,  and  myself  have  just 
witnessed.  In  consequence  of  this,  no  other  collier  would 
live  here,  or  even  in  this  district  of  the  mountain  forest. 
For  the  spectre  draws  a  wide  circle  round  the  centre  of 
14 


158 

his  power.  The  truth  is,  he  is  the  spirit  of  one  of  my 
predecessors,  who  was  very  rich  and  very  avaricious.  For 
he  buried  money  in  this  wilderness,  and  as  long  as  he  lived, 
he  used  to  wander  in  a  wide  circuit  through  the  region 
round  about  where  his  treasures  lay  ;  he  also  wrapped  him- 
self in  a  red  mantle,  with  a  view,  as  he  said,  to  remind  the 
robbers  of  the  crimson  robe  of  the  executioner ;  and  he 
carried  a  sword  and  musketoon  in  his  hands. 

"  Well,  he  died,  and  then  he  had  no  power  to  point  out 
his  treasures  to  friend  or  foe ;  he  may  have  even  forgotten 
the  spot  where  he  had  buried  them,  and  therefore,  in  a 
state  of  perfect  bewilderment  and  delusion,  he  used  to 
enter  the  cottage  in  that  frightful  form. 

"  What  could  I  do  ?  I  came  to  this  conclusion  :  '  If  I 
am  a  truly  christian  man,  and  never  cease  to  be  alive, 
heart  and  soul,  to  the  duty  of  devotion,  then  even  the  very 
devil  in  hell  will  be  unable  to  hurt  me ;  and  how  much  less  a 
poor  deluded  spectre!'  And  then,  in  the  holy  name  of 
God,  I  moved  hither  with  my  wife  and  children. 

"  At  the  outset,  you  may  be  sure,  Red-Mantle,  as  we 
used  to  call  him,  made  himself  busy  enough.  When  we 
are  walking  along  our  way  in  a  thoughtful  mood,  and  some- 
thing wholly  unexpected  suddenly  stands  before  us,  more 
especially  if  it  be  of  the  spectre  kind,  the  very  bravest  of 
us  may  well  be  terrified.  The  children  now  fled  from  the 
phantom  as  from  a  dreadful  enemy,  and  even  my  wife  was 
often  greatly  frightened." 

"  Yes,  and  that  horrible  time  must  now  be  lived  over 
again,"  said  his  wife  with  a  sigh.  "  He  was  just  now  seen 
at  the  door,  altogether  monstrous  in  his  shape,  wild  in  his 
looks,  and  clad  in  his  blood-red  garment." 

"Do  as  you  formerly  did,"  replied  the  collier;  "pray, 
think  holy  thoughts,  and  nothing  will  harm  you." 

That  very  instant  the  door-latch  was  rattled  in  a  furious 
manner;  all  shuddered,  and  the  children  cried.  But  the 
collier  resolutely  stepped  forward,  and  spoke  with  a  loud 
voice :  "Depart,  I  command  you  in  the  name  of  the  Lord. 
You  have  nothing  to  do  with  us  here."  — They  then  heard, 
without  the  cottage,  a  sound  like  the  roar  of  a  whirlwind, 
and  the  collier,  while  he  reseated  himself  by  the  hearth, 
went  on  in  the  following  manner : 


159 

"  We  formerly  made  a  fair  trial  of  the  course  I  advise, 
and  we  cannot  take  a  better.  We  will  be  more  constant 
in  our  prayers,  and  more  watchful  over  our  conduct.  If 
we  have  so  far  subdued  him  already,  that  he  has  laid  his 
red  mantle  aside,  become  quite  gentle  in  his  manners, 
joined  us  at  the  hour  of  our  evening  prayer,  put  on  a  calm 
and  friendly  countenance,  and  shrunk  to  the  small  size  we 
have  seen  ;  then,  released  from  his  troubled  state,  he  will 
soon  disappear  from  the  earth,  and  lie  at  rest  until  the 
great  day.  Children,  you  have  loved  him  as  a  meek  and 
quiet  house-spirit ;  you  have  commonly  grieved,  that  in  his 
subdued  state  he  would  never  take  any  but  the  lowest  seat 
at  our  evening  service,  —  now  cheerfully  strive  to  secure 
both  his  repose  and  your  own  by  devotion,  patience,  and 
purity  of  heart.  We  shall  soon  restore  him  to  the  peace- 
fulness  of  last  evening." 

Then  all  of  them,  mother  and  children,  joyfully  rose  up, 
and,  as  they  gave  their  hand  to  husband  and  father,  prom- 
ised to  do  as  he  had  exhorted  them,  and  no  more  suffer 
themselves  to  be  faint-hearted  in  opposing  the  evil  spirit, 
so  that  its  form  might  ever  be  such  alone,  as  it  dared  to 
show  in  the  light. 

The  mind  of  Berthold,  however,  was  quite  bewildered 
by  all  this.  He  now  thought  he  had  been  seized  with  a 
fever,  and  that  all  these  things  were  mere  visionary  won- 
ders, the  delusion  of  a  wandering  mind  ;  now  he  imagined, 
that  he  was  at  this  very  moment  the  sport  of  the  same 
delirium  ;  and  now,  finally,  that  he  was  betrayed  to  a  band 
of  robbers,  whose  object  in  assuming  the  semblance  of 
piety  was  solely  to  possess  themselves  of  his  money  and 
rich  merchandise.  He  begged  them  to  bring  him  his 
horse.  The  oldest  son  ran  to  the  door,  but  the  host  said 
to  the  traveller : 

"  You  will  do  more  wisely  to  remain  till  it  is  bright  day- 
light. At  this  early  hour  of  dawn,  it  is  very  gloomy  in 
the  forest." 

But  when  he  insisted  on  departing,  it  was  not  difficult  to 
see,  that  the  whole  family  were  heartily  rejoiced  to  be  rid 
of  him,  and  the  collier  had  pressed  him  to  wait  merely 
out  of  civility  and  regard  to  duty.  He  was  desirous  of 
compensating  his  host  for  his  supper  and  lodging,  but  he 


160 

found  his  money  refused  with  a  feeling  so  indignant,  that  he 
did  not  see  fit  to  repeat  the  offer.  His  horse  stood  stamp- 
ing before  the  door,  and  the  portmanteau  was  soon  fastened 
to  the  saddle ;  Berthold  mounted,  and  observed,  that  his 
mysterious  host  bade  him  farewell  much  less  cordially,  than 
he  had  bidden  him  welcome  the  evening  before.  Full  of 
ill-humour  and  wild  surmises  of  evil,  he  trotted  along  the 
way,  which  had  been  pointed  out  to  him  through  the 
forest. 


CHAPTER  III 


BERTHOLD'S  MONET-DIGGING,  AND  WHO  HELPED  HIM. 
GROWTH  AND  FADING  AWAY  OF  EVIL. 


Berthold  could  not  persuade  himself,  that  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  cottage  were  so  indisputably  right,  and  the 
spirit  so  entirely  wrong.  —  "For,"  said  he  to  himself,  "if 
he  is  not  a  spectre,  then  they  are  deceivers ;  and  if  he  is 
one,  then  he  does  perfectly  right  to  discover  his  treasures, 
so  that  some  living  person  may  be  happy  in  making  use  of 
them.  And  who  knows  but  I  may  myself  be  that  fortunate 
individual  ? " 

While  he  was  thus  musing,  the  trees  assumed  a  wonder- 
ful and  very  peculiar  appearance  ;  the  wind  of  morning  whis- 
tled, as  it  came  in  his  face,  like  the  music  of  promise ;  the  va- 
pours rose  and  withdrew  before  him  like  lofty  colonnades, 
and  as  he  rode  on  beneath  them,  his  train  of  thought  ran 
thus  :  c  Nature  seems  to  be  in  league  with  me  ;  and  if  she 
is  so,  then  I  require  no  sunshine  to  guide  me  in  the  right 
way.' 

"  On  then,  and  good  luck  attend  me  !  " — he  exclaimed  in 
triumph.  Scarcely  had  he  given  utterance  to  his  emotion, 
when  he  saw  Red-Mantle  moving  on  by  his  side,  and 
seeming  to  nod  assentingly,  not  only  to  his  words,  but  even 
to  his  very  thoughts.  He  was  at  first  somewhat  disconcerted 
at  this  intrusion  ;  but  the  more  he  endeavoured  to  calm  him- 
self, the  more  did  Red-Mantle  nod  to  him  with  an  air  of 
friendliness,  and  at  last  began  of  his  own  accord  to  speak 
thus: 

"  After  all,  companion,  I  was  in  but  a  pitiful  condition 
14* 


162 

there  with  that  set  of  collier-people.  Their  everlasting 
praying  and  singing  reduced  me  within  an  ace  of  annihila- 
tion ;  you  saw  yourself  to  what  a  dwarf  I  had  dwindled, 
and  what  a  shrivelled  figure  I  had  become  in  that  wretched 
circle.  Well,  you  came  in,  and  I  was  at  first  disturbed, 
as  if  something  strange  and  disagreeable  had  entered  among 
us,  but  we  soon  became  congenial  spirits.  Then  I  grew,  — 
oh  yes  !  and  I  am  able  to  grow,  until  I  reach  the  sparkling 
canopy  of  the  stars.  Only  be  as  haughty  as  possible,  and 
think  thus  within  yourself:  'I  already  stand  elevated  above 
others,  and  I  ought  tobe  a  person  altogether  different  from 
my  fellow-creatures  one  and  all,  a  perfect  lord  of  creation, 
the  first  favourite  of  Nature,  freed  from  all  labour  and  exer- 
tion ; '  then  will  you  stand  where  I  wish  to  have  you,  and 
the  treasure  is  yours.  That  scurvy  collier-family,  you  see 
at  a  glance,  are  too  stupid  for  such  fortune  as  this.  —  Shall 
we  dig  ?  "  — 

Berthold  in  a  rapture  consented,  and  Red-Mantle  point- 
ed to  a  small  eminence,  that  rose  not  far  before  them, 
strowed  with  the  slender,  needle-like  foliage  of  the  pine. 
The  merchant,  having  no  implement  suitable  for  digging, 
was  obliged  to  turn  up  the  ground  with  his  broad  hanger ; 
and  then  he  saw  with  alarm,  that  the  red  man  stood  oppo- 
site assisting  him,  and  that  where  he  thrust  his  huge  hands 
into  the  opening,  a  blue  vapour  of  sulphur  ascended  from 
the  earth,  that  strangely  confused  them  in  their  search. 
The  vapour  rose,  the  earth  groaned,  the  stones  rolled, 
and  at  last  appeared  two  or  three  urns,  that  immediately 
crumbled  to  ashes  before  the  breeze  of  morning.  In  vain 
did  Berthold  hunt  for  treasure  in  that  miserable  hole. 

On  this  failure,  the  unquiet  spirit  wrung  his  bony  hands 
most  pitiably,  and  pointed  forward  to  the  next  knoll. 
Again  they  dug,  and  again  they  found  the  same  kind  of 
money-pots,  filled  with  ashes  and  decayed  rubbish.  They 
then  went  to  other  rising  grounds,  and  the  many  openings 
they  made,  all  disclosed  to  them,  one  after  another,  the 
same  wretched  disappointment  of  their  hopes.  At  this, 
the  wandering  spirit  became  enraged,  and  struck  his  bony 
fists  against  the  trees  with  such  force,  that  sparks  streamed 
from  them  like  a  shower  of  fire ;  and  he  cast  the  most 
violent  abuse  upon  Berthold,  swearing  that  he  had  discov- 


163 

ered  the  buried  treasures  there  below,  and  like  a  thief  had 
stolen  them  away.  His  huge  figure  glowed  like  the  flame 
of  a  furnace,  and  Berthold  trembled  before  it,  as  it  rose 
higher  and  higher  in  its  fury,  above  the  tops  of  the  oaks, 
beeches,  and  pines. 

That  moment  the  cock  crew.  With  a  shriek  of  agony 
the  apparition  was  dispersed  into  the  four  winds,  and  the 
sweet  tones  of  the  morning  bell,  in  a  neighbouring  village, 
came  wafted  through  the  woods  with  a  most  soothing  influ- 
ence. Berthold  returned  in  terrour  to  his  frightened  horse, 
which,  at  the  commencement  of  his  digging  for  the  treas- 
ure, he  had  tied  to  the  trunk  of  a  tree ;  he  mounted  him, 
and,  soon  finding  the  high  road,  trotted  on  toward  an 
inhabited  district. — 

Years  now  passed  away.  Berthold  spent  them  in  for- 
eign countries  remote  from  Germany,  detained  by  various 
avocations,  now  in  embarrassment  and  now  encompassed 
with  snares,  but  still  not  so  much  so,  that  the  story  of 
Red-Mantle  and  the  collier-family  altogether  faded  from 
his  remembrance.  On  the  contrary,  he  often  called  it  to 
mind,  and  with  a  mingled  emotion  of  solicitude  and  lon^ino- 
of  the  heart;  and  when  at  length  he  was  returning  home- 
ward, and  had  now  come  to  that  same  quarter  of  the 
country,  no  apprehension  was  so  great,  and  no  scruple  of 
judgment  so  strong,  as  to  restrain  him  from  searching  out 
his  former  pathway,  although  the  evening  was  becoming 
fearfully  dark  in  the  solitary  forest,  so  that  he  again  stopped 
before  the  collier's  cottage  in  the  deep  obscurity,  and  asked 
for  his  hospitable  shelter. 

And  the  same  group  of  bright,  cordial  faces,  as  on  the 
former  evening,  came  clustering  to  the  door ;  the  mistress 
of  the  house  held  out  her  small  lamp,  carefully  screening 
it  from  the  current  of  air  with  her  apron  ;  while  the  worthy 
collier  stood  by  the  horse  with  a  friendliness  the  most  un- 
feigned. He  pressed  the  traveller  to  dismount  and  walk 
in,  and  committed  the  beast  to  the  care  of  one  of  the  boys  ; 
the  moment  they  called  to  mind  who  he  was,  they  bade 
him  welcome,  little  as  most  people  might  have  welcomed 
him  under  like  circumstances. 

In  the  room  he  entered,  all  continued  to  look  as  on  his 
first   visit ;  they  again  took  their  seats  around   the  family 


164 

table ;  perry  was  placed  before  them  ;  the  place,  which 
the  spectre  had  formerly  occupied,  to  the  terrour  of 
Berthold  remained  vacant  again,  as  if  they  were  every 
evening  still  expecting  the  mysterious  visitor.  All  contin- 
ued silent,  and  wore  an  air  of  doubt  or  suspicion,  so  that 
two  things  of  their  former  entertainment  were  wanting, 
and  those,  it  must  be  confessed,  were  better  than  all  the 
rest,  —  familiar  talk  and  heart-inspiring  music. 

The  good  collier  then  opened  his  mouth,  and  spoke 
thus  :  "  My  guest,  what  variance  you  had  with  our  house- 
spirit  some  years  ago,  we  know  not.  But  we  ourselves 
have  suffered  from  him  difficulty  and  trouble,  terrour  and 
anxiety  enough.  I  trust  you  will  pass  the  night  with  us 
again,  and  I  therefore  wish  from  my  heart,  that  you  may 
fill  your  mind  with  holy  thoughts,  so  as  to  disturb  neither 
us  nor  the  house-spirit.  So  far  as  he  is  concerned,  indeed, 
I  think  you  cannot  now  so  easily  offend  him  again,  even 
supposing  you  have  nothing  in  your  head  and  heart  but 
money  and  merchandise.  But  let  all  be  hushed  to  silence 
now,  our  season  of  prayer  is  come." 

All  folded  their  hands,  the  father  of  the  family  took  off 
his  cap,  and  began  to  sing  again  that  beautiful  hymn, 

"  Now  all  the  woods  are  sleeping." 

Berthold  reverently  sang  with  them,  expecting  every  mo- 
ment to  see  the  apparition  of  the  house-spirit,  though 
in  the  meek  form  and  humble  garb  of  his  first  ap- 
pearance. But  no  finger  tapped  at  the  door,  and  no 
door  opened.  Only  a  soft  light  was  diffused  through  the 
room,  and  a  breathing  melody  arose,  as  when  with  moisten- 
ed finger  we  touch  the  finely  attuned  musical  glasses. 

Hardly  had  the  hour  of  prayer  passed,  when  Berthold 
accosted  the  master  of  the  house,  and  asked  him  :  "  What 
was  the  meaning  of  that  music  and  that  light  ? " 

"  That  was  the  house-spirit,"  answered  the  collier ;  "  and 
this  is  the  only  way,  in  which  he  now  makes  his  presence 
known  to  us.  We  have  subdued  his  violence,  as  you  saw, 
by  prayer  and  true  watchfulness  over  the  purity  of  our 
mind." 

There  was  something  in  the  heart  of  the  merchant, 
which  whispered  to  him,  that,  notwithstanding  some   im- 


165 

provement  of  character,  he  was  still  too  unworthy  to  pass 
the  night  there.  He  called  for  his  horse,  but  in  a  far  more 
friendly  tone  than  before ;  and  in  a  far  more  friendly 
manner  the  eldest  son  brought  him  to  the  door.  They  all 
then  bade  Berthold  farewell,  perceiving  that  no  evil  feeling 
drove  him  from  them,  and  gave  him  direction  in  regard  to 
the  way  he  must  take,  —  when  the  traveller  rode  on  with 
impulses  of  heart  and  purposes  of  life  entirely  changed. 
He  met  with  nothing  to  annoy  him  as  he  went  on  his  way. 
But  a  beautiful  radiance,  at  times,  hovered  and  flowed  on 
before  him,  illuminating  the  bushes  and  foliage  of  the  moun- 
tain forest :  it  was  a  lustre  strange  and  lovely,  such  as  the 
soul  may  conceive,  but  no  words  are  able  to  express.  He 
felt  its  power  in  the  very  depths  of  his  being,  -  -lUt  £ 


TABLE.TALK  NOTICES  OF  'PHANTASMEN,' 


INCLUDING  THE 


FORTUNES  OF  FAIEYLORE. 


This  modest  volume,  published  without  name,  motto, 
note,  or  comment,  is  said  to  be  the  composition  of  Mrs. 
Henry  Nelson  Coleridge,  only  daughter  of  the  late  S.  T. 
Coleridge.  I  have  been  so  much  gratified  with  this  lady's 
fine  spiriting  in  fairyland,  that  I  cannot  deny  myself  the 
pleasure  of  reviving  some  of  the  impressions  her  adven- 
tures there  have  produced  ;  and  as  preliminary  to  a  famil- 
iar, table-talk  notice,  the  reader  may  welcome  the  follow- 
ing trifle  translated  from  the  German  of  W.  HaufF.  It 
forms  a  lively  introduction  to  his  series  of  tales  for  youth, 
and,  though  entitled  "  Mährchen  als  Almanach,"  in  the 
original,  may  be  called  Fortunes  of  Fairylore,  in 
English. 


In  a  beautiful  kingdom  of  a  region  far  away,  concern- 
ing which  a  rumour  is  rife  that  the  sun  never  goes  down 
upon  its  gardens  of  eternal  green,  Queen  Fancy  has 
reigned  from  the  earliest  period  to  the  present  day.  Ma- 
ny hundred  years  ago,  in  the  olden  lime,  she  distributed 
rich  blessings  to  her  people  with  full  hands,  and  was  loved 
and  revered  by  all  who  knew  her.  But  the  heart  of  the 
queen  was  too  large  to  confine  her  favours  to  her  own 
country ;  she  even,  in  the  regal  splendour  of  her  eternal 
youth  and  beauty,  descended   upon  the   earth  in  person ; 


167 

for  she  had  heard  that  men  dwelt  there,  who  wore  away 
a  sad  existence  amid  anxiety  and  toil.  The  fair  queen 
brought  them  the  choicest  gifts  of  her  kingdom ;  and 
while  she  wandered  through  the  fields  of  the  world,  all 
were  blithe  at  their  labour  and  contented  with  the  severity 
of  their  lot. 

Still  more  to  make  them  happy,  she  sent  forth  her 
children,  who  were  not  less  fair  and  lovely  than  their 
royal  mother.  Fairylore,  the  eldest  daughter  of  the 
queen,  was  the  first  that  returned  from  the  earth.  The 
mother  remarked  one  day,  that  Fairylore  seemed  to  be 
quite  depressed,  nay  that,  every  now  and  then,  her  eyes 
looked  as  red  as  if  she  had  been  weeping. 

"  What  is  it  ails  you,  dear  Fairylore  ?  "  said  the  queen 
with  heartfelt  concern.  "  Ever  since  you  came  home 
from  your  journey,  how  melancholy  and  low-spirited  you 
have  been  !  What  can  be  the  matter  with  you !  Will  you 
not  confide  to  me,  your  mother,  every  event  or  evil  that 
troubles  you  ? " 

"  Alas,  dear  mother  !  "  answered  Fairylore,  "  I  should 
not  have  continued  so  long  silent,  be  assured,  had  I  not 
known  that  my  sorrow  concerned  you  as  much  as  myself." 

"  Nay,  speak  out,  my  daughter  ;  never  fear  being  open- 
hearted,"  said  the  beautiful  queen  in  a  persuasive  tone; 
"  sorrow  is  a  stone,  that  crushes  a  single  bearer  to  the 
ground,  while  two  are  able  to  carry  it  with  ease." 

"  Since  such  is  your  will,"  replied  Fairylore,  "  pray 
listen  while  I  relate  a  word  or  two  of  my  fortunes.  You 
know  how  delighted  I  am  to  have  intercourse  with  the  hu- 
man race  ;  you  know  with  what  joy  I  take  my  seat  with  the 
very  humblest  before  their  cottage  doors,  and  chat  with 
them  a  little  while  after  their  labours :  formerly,  when  they 
saw  me  come  to  make  them  a  call,  they  sprang  to  give  me 
the  hand  and  kiss  of  cordial  welcome ;  and  when  I  went 
away,  they  looked  after  me  smiling  and  grateful ;  but  in 
these  days  all  is  very  different,  —  all  quite  the  reverse  of 
such  warmth  of  heart." 

"  Why,  poor  Fairylore!"  said  the  queen,  stroking  her 
cheek,  that  was  moistened  with,  a  tear  ;  "  but  are  you  not 
too  sensitive  ?  May  not  this  change  of  treatment  exist 
only  in  your  own  fancy  ?  " 


168 

"  Believe  me,  I  feel  but  too  keenly,"  returned  Fairy- 
lore,  "  that  they  love  me  no  longer.  Everywhere,  wherev- 
er I  go,  I  meet  none  but  cold  or  half  averted  looks ;  I 
am  nowhere  greeted  with  heart,  and  hand,  and  lip,  as  I 
used  to  be  ;  the  very  children,  who  were  ever  wont  to  love 
me  dearly,  now  laugh  at  me,  and,  much  too  knowing  for 
an  age  so  tender,  turn  their  back  upon  me." 

Hearing  this,  the  queen  rested  her  brow  upon  her  palm, 
and  mused  a  moment  in  silence. 

"  And  pray  how  does  it  happen,  Fairylore,"  inquired 
the  queen,  awaking  from  her  reverie,  "  how  does  it  happen 
that  people  are  so  changed  below  there  on  the  earth  ? " 

ci  I  can  tell  you,  Queen  Fancy, —  this  is  the  cause: 
men  have  appointed  a  band  of  shrewd  and  sharpsighted 
watchmen,  who  stop,  search,  and  scrutinize  all  that  come 
out  of  your  kingdom.  Whenever  a  new-comer  arrives, 
whose  garments  are  not  cut  according  to  the  fashion  they 
approve,  they  raise  a  huge  outcry  ;  then  they  either  give 
him  his  death-blow  at  once,  or  spread  abroad  so  bad  a 
character  of  him,  that  the  world  receive  their  slander  for 
truth,  and  not  a  soul  will  any  more  show  him  a  spark  of 
love  or  confidence.  Ah,  how  happy  are  those  brothers  of 
mine,  Dreams  !  What  a  dainty  life,  what  a  brave  freedom, 
is  theirs  !  Full  of  frolic,  they  leap  lightly  down  to  the 
earth,  care  not  a  whit  for  those  wiseacre  watchmen,  visit 
all  in  their  slumber,  and  wTeave  such  brilliant  webs,  and 
paint  such  glorious  pictures  for  them,  as  charm  their  eye 
and  rejoice  their  heart.  * 

"  In  truth  your  brothers  are  light-footed,"  said  the  queen, 
"  but  you,  my  darling,  have  no  reason  to  envy  them.  Be- 
sides, I  am  well  acquainted  wTith  those  critical  gentlemen 
of  the  border-land;  we  must  not  blame  the  commonwealth 
of  letters  too  severely  for  stationing  them  there  as  sentinels  ; 
it  had  become  quite  an  indispensable  precaution,  there  were 
so  many  emptyheaded  fellows  kept  rushing  into  the  country, 
pretending  to  have  come  directly  from  my  kingdom,  while 
the  truth  was,  they  had  caught,  at  most,  only  some  faint 
glimpses  of  it  from  a  mountain  below." 

"  But  why  do  they  make  me,  your  own  daughter,  a  vic- 
tim on  account  of  those  brainless  interlopers  ? "  cried 
Fairylore,  weeping ;   "alas!  if  you   knew   what  shameful 


169 

treatment  I  have  suffered  from  that  outpost  watch !  they 
abused,  they  made  a  mock  of  me,  just  as  if  I  were  entirely 
antiquated,  and  still  were  affecting  the  frolicsome  spirit  of 
a  girl;  and  they  threatened,  the  next  time  I  dared  make 
my  appearance,  not  to  let  me  enter  the  country  at  all." 

"  How,  not  permit  my  own  daughter  to  enter!"  ex- 
claimed the  queen,  while  wrath  heightened  the  glow  of  her 
cheek,  and  her  eye  flashed  fire  ;  "  but  I  now  see  from  what 
quarter  these  trials  of  yours  arise :  that  vile  gossiping 
female,  who  changes  her  mind  with  every  change  of  moon 
or  wind,  — she  has  been  defaming  us." 

"  Is  Fashion  the  abusive  gossip  you  mean  ?  that 's  im- 
possible !  "  cried  Fairylore  ;  "  Fashion  has  ever  been  one 
of  our  warmest  friends  and  advocates." 

"  O,  I  know  her,  the  false  Gipsey  ! "  replied  the  queen  : 
"  but  let  me  advise  you,  my  daughter,  to  set  her  at  defi- 
ance, and  try  your  fortune  once  again :  whoever  would  do 
good,  must  never  be  idle." 

"Alas,  mother !  what  if  they  send  me  home  irrevocably  ? 
or  what  if  they  so  bitterly  revile  me,  that  all  shall  scorn  to 
look  at  me,  or  doom  me  to  stand  alone  and  despised  in  a 
corner  ? " 

"  If  the  old  are  so  befooled  by  Fashion,  as  to  treat  you 
with  neglect  or  contempt,  then  turn  to  the  young  ;  they  in- 
deed are  the  very  darlings  of  my  heart,  and  I  send  them 
my  loveliest  pictures  by  those  brothers  of  yours,  Dreams ; 
nay,  I  have  often  swept  down  to  where  they  were  myself, 
hovered  round  them,  pressed  them  to  my  heart,  kissed 
them,  prattled  with  them,  and  played  beautiful  games  with 
them.  They  know  me  well,  though  not  acquainted  with 
my  name,  but  I  have  frequently  observed,  that  in  the  even- 
ing they  look  up  to  my  stars  with  a  smile ;  and  in  the 
morning,  when  my  bright  clouds  are  scudding  along  the 
sky  like  white  lambs  in  a  race,  they  clap  their  hands  for 
joy.  And  when  they  grow  larger,  they  still  love  me:  I 
then  assist  fair  maidens  in  wreathing  their  gay  garlands  ; 
and  wild  youth  feel  a  calm  of  delight  steal  over  their  spir- 
it, when  I  place  myself  before  them  on  the  lofty  summits 
of  rocks,  and  out  of  the  cloud-world  of  distant  blue  moun- 
tains I  command  high  castles  and  sparkling  palaces  to  loom  ; 
15 


170 

and  out  of  the  crimson  clouds  of  evening  I  form  brave 
troops  of  horsemen  and  wonderful  processions  of  pilgrims." 

"  O,  those  blessed,  blessed  children  and  youth  ! "  cried 
Fairylore,  enraptured  ;  "  yes,  it  shall  be  as  you  advise  !  I 
will  go  forth  once  again,  and  try  my  fortune  with  them." 

"  Yes,  my  good  daughter,"  said  the  queen,  "  go  to  them  ; 
but  I  will  dress  you  with  a  little  more  elegance  than  here- 
tofore, that  while  you  are  acceptable  to  the  small,  the  larger 
may  not  thrust  you  from  their  presence :  see  there,  I  will 
give  you  that  robe  of  changeable  silk  to  wear." 

"  A  silk  robe,  mother  ?  woe  's  me  !  — I  shall  be  ashamed 
to  appear  before  people  in  such  fine  garments  as  those ! " 

The  queen  motioned  to  her  hand-maids,  and  they 
brought  the  elegant  robe  of  changeable  silk.  It  was  vari- 
egated with  vivid  colours,  and  interwoven  with  exquisite 
figures  of  tissue-work. 

The  maidens  braided  the  fair  damsel's  long  hair ;  they 
bound  her  golden  sandals  to  her  feet,  and  gracefully  dis- 
posed her  silk  robe  about  her  form. 

The  modest  Fairylore  hardly  ventured  to  look  up,  but 
her  mother  viewed  her  well-pleased,  and  folded  her  in  her 
arms :  "  Go  forth,"  said  she  to  her  little  favourite,  "  my 
blessing  be  with  you ;  and  should  they  scorn  and  scoff  at 
you,  then  return  home  to  me,  —  some  later  generation,  it 
may  be,  more  true  to  the  impulses  of  nature,  will  again 
give  you  the  warmth  of  their  heart." 

Thus  spoke  Queen  Fancy,  and  Fairylore  descended  to 
the  earth.  With  throbbing  heart  she  approached  the 
place,  where  the  shrewd  watchmen  kept  guard  ;  sinking 
her  head  low  toward  the  ground,  she  drew  her  beautiful 
robe  more  closely  about  her,  and  with  tottering  step  went 
up  to  the  gate. 

"Stop!"  shouted  a  voice  grum  and  gruff;  "watch, 
without  there  1  there  's  a  new  intruder  coming  !" 

Fairylore  trembled,  when  she  heard  these  sounds  of 
alarm ;  a  crowd  of  old  fellows  of  gloomy  aspect  came 
stumbling  out;  they  held sharppointed  quills  in  their  clutch, 
and,  with  a  fierce  brandishing,  thrust  them  forward  to  op- 
pose Fairylore.  One  of  the  number  stepped  up  to  her, 
and  with  rough  grasp  seized  her  by  the  chin.  "Be  so 
good  as  to  hold  up  that  head  of  yours,  Sir  Stranger  !  "  he 


^171 

cried  ;  "  we  want  to  look  into  your  face  and  eyes,  and  see 
whether  all  is  as  it  should  be." 

Fairylore  raised  her  head,  blushing,  and  opened  her 
dark  eyes. 

"Why,  it's  Fairylore!"  cried  the  watchmen  with  a 
peal  of  laughter;  "  it's  Fairylore  !  you  meant  to  make  us 
wonder  who  was  coming,  did  you  ?  Now  just  tell  us  one 
thing  :  —  how  came  you  to  be  so  daintily  bedizened  in  that 
robe  ? " 

"My  mother  put  it  on  me,"  answered  Fairylore. 

"  She  did  ?  And  she  thought  to  smuggle  you  by  us, 
did  she  ?  This  won't  do.  There's  no  admittance  for  you  ! 
Take  yourself  off!  tramp  back  the  same  way  you  came  !" 
shouted  the  watchmen  all  in  a  breath,  and  raised  their  sharp- 
pointed  weapons. 

"  But  I  only  want  to  visit  children  and  youthful  friends," 
said  Fairylore  in  a  tone  of  entreaty :  "  you  surely  can 
grant  me  a  favour  so  slight  as  that  ? 

"  Have  we  not  too  many  of  your  tribe  already,  scourg- 
ing the  country  from  side  to  side  ? "  cried  one  of  the 
guard ;  "  they  do  nothing  but  stuff  the  heads  of  our  chil- 
dren with  their  stupid  trash." 

"  Let  us  see,  however,  what  she  can  say  for  herself 
once  more,"  said  another. 

"  Well,  now  for  it ! "  cried  these  grave  signiors,  "unpack 
your  budget  of  wisdom  and  wit ;  but  be  quick  about  it ; 
we  have  no  time  to  waste  with   such  wild   gentry  as  you." 

Fairylore  stretched  forth  her  hand,  and  with  her  fore- 
finger made  many  mystic  characters  in  the  air.  The 
same  moment,  confused  forms  and  groups  of  figures  were 
seen  moving  by;  —  caravans,  beautiful  steeds,  horsemen 
in  splendid  apparel,  numerous  tents  on  the  sand  of  the 
desert ;  birds  and  fishes  on  stormy  seas ;  calm  woods  and 
crowded  squares  and  streets;  battles  and  peaceful  shepherd- 
wanderers, —  these  all  came  sweeping  by  in  lively  repre- 
sentation and  gay  confusion. 

Fairylore  had  not  observed,  through  the  eagerness  with 
which  she  conjured  these  living  forms  before  the  eye,  that 
the  keepers  of  the  gate  had  one  after  another  fallen  dead 
asleep  ;  when  just  as  she  was  calling  up  a  new  series  of 
scenes   and   figures,  a  friendly  man  came  up  to  her,  and 


172 

took  her  by  the  hand.  "  See  there,  my  good  Fairylore," 
said  he,  pointing  to  the  slumbering  watchmen  ;  "  your 
wild  and  wondrous  creations  are  for  the  living  ;  to  such 
dead  and  drowsy  souls  as  those,  palsied  in  heart  and  imag- 
ination, they  are  nothing :  this  moment  make  haste,  and 
slip  through  the  gate  ;  they  will  never  suspect  that  you 
are  in  the  country ;  while  you  can  pass  on  your  way 
unmolested  and  unobserved.  1  will  conduct  you  to  my 
children,  and  give  you  a  snug  little  room  in  my  house,  still 
and  cheerful.  There  you  can  remain,  and  live  just  as  you 
like ;  and  whenever  my  sons  and  daughters  have  been 
studious  in  getting  their  lessons,  they  shall  be  allowed  to 
come  to  you  with  their  schoolmates,  and  listen  to  your 
beautiful  stories.  Will  you  come,  and  gratify  both  me 
and  them  ?" 

"  O  how  joyfully  I  will  follow  you  to  your  dear  children  ! 
and  how  active  I  shall  be  in  creating  for  them  now  and 
then  a  bright  hour  of  enjoyment !  " 

The  worthy  man  gave  her  a  friendly  nod,  and  assisted 
her  to  step  over  the  feet  of  the  sleeping  watchmen.  When 
Fairylore  had  got  over,  she  looked  round  with  a  smile, 
and  then  instantly  slipped  thro'  the  gate. 


There  is  too  much  truth,  no  doubt,  in  what  Hauff  observes 
respecting  our  present  distaste  of  the  spiritual,  though  he 
seems  not  to  remember  the  continued  popularity  of  the 
Arabian  Nights.  His  little  allegory,  however,  is  quite 
descriptive  of  the  general  neglect  into  which  fairy  legends 
of  the  olden  time  have  fallen,  except  upon  the  stage, 
indeed,  where  dress  and  good  acting,  scene-painting  and 
machinery,  save  the  dull  or  dead  imagination  of  the  age 
as  much  effort  as  may  be :  it  shows,  too,  the  propriety  of 
our  now  embellishing  such  compositions  with  more  elegance 
of  invention  and  richness  of  imagery,  and  these  facts 
remind  me  of  the  brief  remarks  I  purposed  to  make  on 
Phantasmion. 

This  is  a  beautiful  tale,  highly  imaginative  and  original, 
and  to  all  true  lovers  of  legendary  lore,  the  wild  and  won- 
derful  creations  of  jrenius,  it   cannot  fail  to  be  welcome. 


173 

Nothing  has  appeared  in  this  species  of  writing,  to  be  for 
one  moment  compared  with  Phantasmion,  since  Fouque 
produced  his  inimitable  Undine.  Like  that  embodying  of 
German  imagination,  it  is  a  fine  specimen  of  the  union  of 
the  natural  and  supernatural,  —  a  union  indispensable  in 
all  works  of  fairy  invention. 

We  are  not  insensible,  that  finely  touched  spirits  are 
alone  qualified  fully  to  appreciate  productions  of  this  class. 
There  must  be  some  mystic  congeniality  between  the 
writer  and  the  reader.  Something  more,  too,  is  required. 
Beside  the  poiver  to  enjoy  these  picturings  of  the  spiritual, 
the  reader  must  have  the  fear  of  injustice  continually  before 
his  eyes:  he  must  be  as  alive  and  alert  in  catching  the 
glimpses  of  fairyland  created,  as  the  author  was  in  pre- 
senting them  to  his  vision.  Quite  as  much  of  our  false 
criticism  and  imperfect  enjoyment,  if  not  more,  arises  from 
want  of  this  faithful  examination,  as  from  our  incapacity. 

For  our  own  part,  we  have  endeavoured  to  be  as  just  to 
the  fair  writer  of  this  little  volume,  as  to  our  critical  selves. 
We  have  given  her  book  several  leisurely  perusals,  and 
each  time  not  only  with  increased  admiration  of  her  fine- 
ness of  conception  and  simple  elegance  of  execution,  but 
with  higher  and  higher  gratification. 

To  give  a  full  analysis  of  the  story,  would  be  delightful 
to  ourselves,  —  a  lingering,  fond  delay, — but  unprofitable 
to  the  reader,  — the  shadow,  not  indeed  of  a  shade,  but  of 
celestial  light. 

The  little  songs  and  other  breathings  of  poetry,  scattered 
throughout  the  volume,  are  of  such  beauty,  both  in  deli- 
cacy of  thought  and  flow  of  versification,  as  S.  T.  Cole- 
ridge himself  might  have  admired. 

There  is  one  trait  or  characteristic  feature  in  this  book, 
that  will  render  it  peculiarly  acceptable  to  all  lovers  of 
nature.  We  do  not  allude  to  its  accuracy  in  the  delinea- 
tion of  the  infinite  phases  of  earth  and  air,  sea  and  sky, 
tho'  nothing  can  be  more  perfect  in  this  respect ;  but  what 
we  mean,  is  its  remarkable  freedom  from  the  conventional 
forms  and  usages  of  life.  It  has  the  patriarchal  simplicity, 
the  beautiful  truthfulness,  of  primitive  ages,  while  it  is  at 
the  same  time  enriched  and  ennobled  by  the  refinement  of 
a  more  advanced  period. 
15* 


374 

As  it  would  be  quite  contrary  to  the  whole  code  of  crit- 
icism, made  and  provided  in  the  commonwealth  of  letters, 
not  to  find  or  create  some  occasion  for  censure,  we  must 
conform  to  a  regulation  so  universal. 

There  are  only  two  imperfections  that  occur  to  us, 
worth  mentioning  in  this  brief  notice,  and  one  of  these  is 
more  a  difference  of  taste,  perhaps,  than  a  valid  objection. 
The  use  of  the  solemn  style,  —  thou,  thee,  hath,  hast,  art, 
&tc. — has  in  our  view  far  less  of  reality  in  prose,  than  the 
familiar  form  of  common  talk.  We  merely  suggest  this, 
however,  as  an  individual  feeling.  Our  other  impression 
we  consider  of  greater  moment.  More  concentration  of 
action  in  a  few  characters,  as  is  so  studiously  accomplished 
in  Undine,  and  not  diffusing  the  interest  among  so  many, 
as  it  seems  to  us,  would  have  been  a  great  improvement. 
It  may  be  too  late  to  remedy  this  defect  now,  since  we 
have  not  the  heart  to  vote  for  the  death  of  more  than  one 
or  two  of  the  subordinate  characters,  still  the  evil  might 
have  been  easily  avoided,  while  the  work  remained  in 
manuscript. 

But  instead  of  dwelling  for  a  moment  on  any  possibili- 
ties of  improvement  or  perfection,  it  is  an  impulse  infinitely 
more  grateful  to  welcome  with  heart  and  hand  the  treasure 
as  it  is,  —  the  beautiful  Silver  Pitcher  of  the  romance 
itself.  The  author  is  by  nature  rich  in  mental  endowment; 
indications  of  her  father's  plastic  imagination  are  every- 
where visible ;  and  by  no  means  has  she,  though  now 
residing  in  the  heart  of  London,  lived  in  the  Arcadia  of 
Cumberland  in  vain. 

Although  not  distrusting  the  correctness  of  my  own 
convictions,  yet  wishing  to  secure  the  literary  sympathy  of 
a  friend,  I  wrote  to  him  as  follows,  inclosing  a  copy  of  the 
book : 

November  26.  1838. 

Have  you  read  the  new  fairy-tale,  Phantasmion  ?  I 
hope  you  have  not,  as  in  that  case  you  have  a  peculiar 
pleasure  to  come. 

I  hazard  nothing,  when  I  call  Phantasmion  not  only  one 
of  our  best  fairy-tales,  but  the  most  beautifully  imaginative 
creation  in  the   legendary  lore  of  England.     When  I  say 


175 

this,  I  do  not  of  course  forget  those  splendid  exhibitions  of 
the  supernatural,  'Gaston  de  Blondeville  '  and  'The 
Five  Nights  or  St.  Albans,'  since  these  belong  to 
another  and  a  higher  department  of  fiction.  The  tenderness 
of  the  former,  and  the  terrible  graces  of  the  latter,  are  equal- 
led only  by  the  magnificence  of  both.  Phantasmion  com- 
bines, what  we  find  extremely  rare,  the  wildest  originality 
with  the  nicest  inspection  and  observance  of  human  nature, 
exquisite  elegance  with  even  Saxon  simplicity  of  composi- 
tion. Do  you  ask  me  what  is  its  grand  characteristic  ?  I 
answer,  Beauty,  —  beauty  truly  feminine,  beauty  of  con- 
ception, character,  and  expression.  It  is  indeed  a  wilder- 
ness of  sweets,  illumined  by  the  richest  hues  of  earth  and 
heaven,  and  thro'  which  a  stream  of  magic  melody  is  for 
ever  flowing. 

Phantasmion  is  not  a  creation  for  the  million,  —  not 
because  it  is  hard  to  understand,  for  the  most  unlettered 
may  comprehend  and  enjoy  its  delightful  marvels,  —  but 
because  the  number  of  imaginative  minds  is  small,  and  few 
are  both  able  and  willing  to  reproduce,  as  they  read,  the 
writer's  train  of  thought  and  feeling,  the  impulses  felt,  the 
images  awakened,  and  the  emotion  created,  in  the  glow  of 
composition.  So  much  more  easy  is  it  to  hurry-scurry 
thro'  the  soulless  farragoes  of  the  day,  than  to  be  at  the 
expense  of  this  intellectual  effort,  that  when  a  volume  like 
this  appears,  so  many  readers  do  great  injustice  both  to 
the  writer  and  themselves. 

Were  I  less  familiar  than  I  am  with  the  idiosyncrasies 
of  your  head  and  heart,  I  should  be  cautious  how  I  recom- 
mended a  book  like  this  to  your  perusal.  You  well 
remember  who  has  said,  that  "  Pindar's  remark  on  sweet 
music  holds  equally  true  of  Genius :  as  many  as  are  not 
delighted  by  it,  are  disturbed,  perplexed,  irritated.  The 
Beholder  either  recognizes  it  as  a  projected  Form  of  his 
own  Being,  that  moves  before  him  with  a  Glory  round  its 
head,  or  recoils  from  it  as  from  a  Spectre."  And  you 
will  be  delighted  to  know,  that  it  is  the  "  dear  daughter" 
of  him  who  made  this  remark,  to  whom  we  are  indebted 
for  Phantasmion.  Is  she  not  one  of  the  rare  instances,  in 
which  the  genius  of  the  parent  is  inherited  by  the  child  ? 

You  will  be  glad  to  see  the  many  pieces  of  poetry  in- 
terspersed through  the  volume.     They  were  not  inserted, 


176 

because  the  author  found  it  convenient  to  dispose  of  them 
in  this  way,  but  evidently  because  most  of  them  would  be 
written  for  the  places  they  occupy  ;  and  they  are  not  only 
the  delicious  breathings  of  a  finely  touched  spirit  in  them- 
selves, but  admirably  appropriate  in  their  place.  They 
harmonize  exceedingly  well  with  the  melodramatic  tone  of 
the  fiction,  while  they  add  much  to  its  sweetness  and 
power. 

You  will  be  pleased  to  find,  that  the  mystic  tone  you 
mentioned  as  felt  and  employed  by  Fouque,  has  thrilled 
also  the  author  of  Phantasmion  :  —  "  His  attention  was  ar- 
rested by  a  soft  melancholy  voice,  liquid  and  musical  as 
the  chime  of  crystal  cups  thrilled  by  a  dewy  finger." 

Indeed,  the  scenes  and  sentiments,  the  characters  and 
incidents  of  this  fine  tale,  seem  to  bear  as  much  the  im- 
press of  reality,  as  if  they  were  all  taken  from  the  book 
of  experience.  It  is  a  garden  of  fragrance  and  beauty,  a 
new  world  of  exquisite  sights  and  sounds,  wild  creations  of 
fairy  lore,  and  emotions  true  to  the  beatings  of  the  human 
heart.  If  the  German  Undine  have  more  simplicity  of 
plot  and  concentration  of  interest,  the  English  Phantasmion 
must  be  viewed  as  superiour  in  the  riches  of  a  more 
refined  imagination.  Then  the  songs  of  Phantasmion, — 
I  cannot  too  often  repeat  my  admiration  of  them.  What 
sweetness  of  verse !  what  breathings  of  a  tender  spirit ! 
whose  voice, — who  but  the  writer's  own  Spirit  of  the 
Flowers,  —  could  do  them  justice  ! 


To  this  letter  I  received  an  immediate  reply ;  and  the 
reader,  I  think,  will  be  as  much  pleased  to  see  it,  as  I  was 
myself.  It  may  be  that  I  flatter  myself,  since  my  friend's 
views  coincide  so  entirely  with  my  own.  Still,  as  several 
other  topics  are  touched  upon  in  his  favour,  I  cannot  deny 
myself  the  pleasure  of  making  a  few  extracts. 

November  27.  1838. 
I   agree  with   you,  that  the  fairy-tale  you  were  so  kind 
as  to  send  me  yesterday,  is  original  in  conception  and  con- 
struction.    My  first  reading,  as  you  knew  it  would,  carried 
me  far  into  the  night.     I  had  no  opportunity  of  resorting 


177 

to  my  old  trick,  for  which  you  give  me  so  much  of  your 
admiration,  —  that  of  skipping  irrelevant  matter.  Who 
does  not  hate  to  see  such  prosing  smuggled  into  a  story  ? 

The  style  is  almost  Saxon,  as  you  say,  more  especially 
in  the  first  half,  carefully  excluding  all  ambitious  words, 
when  simple,  familiar,  and  direct  ones  answer  the  purpose 
as  well.  With  regard  to  the  story,  a  fault-finder  would 
say  that  the  attention  is  divided  among  too  many  charac- 
ters,—  a  practice  we  always  wish  to  see  avoided;  and,  on 
the  first  reading,  perhaps  it  is  perplexed  by  them  ;  yet 
there  is  sufficient  interest  excited  to  draw  the  reader  gently 
onward  to  the  very  close.  I  am  now  more  than  half  way 
through  my  second  perusal.  What  a  bright  dawning  of 
the  writer's  initiative,  as  we  grow  familiar  with  her  object ! 

As  you  observe,  the  poetry  so  freely  interspersed  is 
genuine  ;  —  not  prose,  shortened  or  extended  to  the  needed 
measure,  as  the  robber  of  Attica  used  to  versify  the  travel- 
lers he  seized;  —  '-'but  musical  as  is  Apollo's  lute,"  — 
rich  in  thought,  and  thrilling  with  deep  feeling. 

But  why  speak  of  the  poetry  ?  The  prose  is  itself 
poetry,  the  poetry  of  thought.  As  a  whole,  indeed,  it  is 
a  unique  production  ;  but  those  who  hurry  through  it  to 
reach  the  end,  merely  for  the  gratification  of  curiosity, 
must  meet  the  fate  common  to  such  readers.  The  end  in 
every  work  of  genius,  and  in  this  preeminently,  is  to  be 
found  in  the  means.  No,  —  not  a  page  is  here  written 
merely  to  fill  up  and  lengthen  out  the  book.  The  whole 
is  an  evolvement  from  within,  not  a  picking  up  and  patch- 
ing together  of  the  outward.  It  is  evident,  that  in  the 
author's  own  mind  the  objective  is  always  subservient  to 
the  subjective,  "  beautiful  exceedingly "  as  are  her  con- 
ceptions of  the  outward  world,  and  magical  as  are  her 
pictures  of  its  almost  spiritual  beauty. 

Illustration,  as  used  by  this  lady,  has  a  sort  of  creative 
power,  —  the  light,  flowing  from  it,  makes  objects  not  only 
clear  and  distinct,  but  vivid,  living,  and  full  of  motion.  In 
this  particular,  she  is  indeed  the  "  dear  daughter"  of  her 
illustrious  father. 

The  grace  and  delicacy  of  the  author's  own  mind  flow 
through  this  tale,  or,  to  speak  more  exactly,  pervade  it 
like  an  atmosphere,  —  blending,  softening,  and  sometimes 
a  little  obscuring,  but   oftener   illustrating  its   pictures  of 


178 

nature  and  delineations  of  the  heart.  They  breathe  through 
every  thing  and  affect  every  character,  bringing  often  to 
mind  the  remark  of  our  lamented  Coleridge,  that  "  all 
things  and  modes  of  action  shape  themselves  anew  in  the 
being  of  Milton  ; "  for  so  in  these  light  and  airy  visions  of 
fairy-land,  the  lovely  "  ideal "  of  this  Mistress  of  the 
Magic  Wand  is  seen  and  felt  every  where. 

To  do  justice  to  this  work  of  imagination,  so  rich  in 
thought,  so  bewildering  in  its  mazes  of  imagery,  and  so 
unrivalled  in  some  scenes  of  beauty  never  before  deline- 
ated,—  to  do  any  justice  to  these  things,  the  book  must 
be  read  in  the  true  spirit  of  what  has  been  happily  called, 
re-productive  criticism. 

Yes,  the  same  rumour  has  reached  me  as  yourself,  — 
that  Phantasmion  was  written  by  Mrs.  Sara  Coleridge,  wife 
of  H.  N.  Coleridge,  Esq.,  with  a  view  to  relieve  the  tedious 
hours  of  illness,  when  long  confined  to  a  sick  couch.  If 
so,  what  might  not  such  a  mind  produce  in  the  vigour  and 
elasticity  of  health ! 


Since  transcribing  these  extracts  from  my  friend's  letter, 
I  have  been  turning  over  the  leaves  of  Phantasmion,  in 
order  to  select  a  few  passages  in  proof  of  the  justness  of 
the  praise  bestowed,  but  have  found  myself  again  and  again 
reading  on,  forgetful  of  my  purpose,  so  attractive  is  the 
book  even  after  the  third  perusal.  I  find  also  how  difficult 
is  the  task  of  detaching  passages  without  doing  them  injus- 
tice, so  entirely  is  each  part  a  portion  of  the  beautiful 
whole,  intimately  blending  in  with  lights  and  shadows  re- 
ciprocally given  and  received.  It  seems  advisable,  there- 
fore, to  refer  the  reader  to  the  book  itself. 

Readers  of  every  taste  desire  to  be  gratified,  and  each 
repairs  to  his  favourite  source.  While  many  delight  in  the 
drollery  and  satire  of  one  department  of  fiction,  and  more 
in  the  developements  of  vice  and  crime,  low  life  and  ruf- 
fianism, in  another,  as  well  as  some  in  the  finer  spirit  of 
works  inspired  with  the  immortality  of  genius,  the  number 
is  not  small,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  that  feel  the  influence  of  the 
rich  fancies,  pure  thoughts,  pure  language,  and  pure  moral- 
ity of  Phantasmion. 


THE  ALMADORA  EAVINE 


And  all  put  on  a  gentle  hue, 
Hanging  in  the  shadowy  air 
Like  a  picture  rich  and  rare. 

Wanderings  of  Cain. 


Author.  I  have  come,  dear  Madam,  to  claim  the  per- 
formance of  your  promise.  You  have  forgotten,  I  fear, 
the  ravine  I  mentioned  to  you. 

Lady.  Far  from  it.  The  manuscript  you  have  allowed 
me  to  peruse,  has  made  me  impatient  to  view  it  with  you. 
When  shall  we  visit  that  scene  of  lonely  nature,  to  which 
you  so  frequently  allude,  and  which  you  say  resembles  a 
picture  rich  and  rare  ? 

Author.  This  very  moment,  if  it  suit  your  conve- 
nience. My  arm  is  at  your  service  ;  the  December  air  is 
pure  and  bracing,  the  earth  sprinkled  with  hoar-frost  like 
manna,  the  day  young  and  promising  ;  and  you  are  pre- 
pared, I  see,  for  our  little  tour  of  discovery. 

Lady.  How  glad  I  am  it  happens  to  be  so  !  I  should 
be  sorry  to  lose  the  opportunity,  with  which  you  are  so 
kind  as  to  favour  me.    We  pass  that  white  house,  I  think  ? 

Author.  Yes,  and  a  hundred  rods  eastward,  along  this 
grassy  road-side. 

Lady.     I  see,  —  to  yonder  rail-fence  on  the  left. 

Author.     We  enter  by  these  bars,  which  neighbour 

B has  painted  so  gaily.    Permit  me  to  let  them  down 

for  you.  We  are  now  admitted  to  the  commencement  of 
things.  You  observe  those  feathery  spires  of  pasture- 
grass  ? 

Lady.     That  harvest  too  of  witch-hazle  twigs. 


180 

Author.     And  the  crimson  leaves  of  those  shrub-oaks. 

Lady.  Nothing  can  be  more  richly  frosted.  Frosted 
windows  are  beautiful,  but  not  so  beautiful ;  for  here  we 
have  the  addition  of  exquisite  colouring. 

Author.  Observe,  as  we  slowly  move  forward,  that 
tinge  before  us,  that  wave  of  hues  I  may  call  it,  ever  pre- 
serving the  same  distance  on  the  grass.  To  what  may  we 
compare  it  ? 

Lady.  I  know  not :  call  it  the  incomparable,  if  you 
will,  the  wave  of  heaven,  or  the  hue  without  a  name. 
Whatever  you  may  christen  this  living  lustre,  it  seems  at- 
tracting us  toward  some  wonder  to  come.  See  it  moving 
over  that  grove  of  coated  shoots  ;  over  those  russet  leaves 
too,  edged  with  rough-silver  frost-work. 

Author.  A  glorious  view,  the  very  rainbow  of  the 
groves. 

Lady.     Lunar  rainbow,  if  you  please. 

Author.  Leaving  these  faint  hues  of  the  bow  of 
promise,  —  this  galaxy  of  the  earth,  —  on  our  right,  and 
still  following  our  reflected  glory,  we  must  descend  with 
extreme  caution  into  this  deep  ravine,  down  which  a  brook 
is  stealing  beneath  its  crystal  prison.  See  that  you  walk 
exactly,  even  with  apostolic  exactness  :  on  this  slippery 
surface  we  must  keep  a  firm  foot.  Let  us  cross  the  stream, 
where  you  see  those  mossy  steps  on  either  side.  We  are 
safely  over  ! 

Lady.  Do  you  call  this  winding  strip  of  white  ice  a 
stream  ?  How  silent  !  how  dumb  !  the  very  mockery  of 
a  stream. 

Author.  Let  us  trace  the  left-hand  margin  downward, 
a  little  to  the  left  of  the  sun.  Our  path  is  velvety  and 
free  from  danger,  here,  and  wide  enough  for  two  ;  we  might 
without  inconvenience  admit  even  a  third. 

Lady.  Some  Bertha  or  Seraphina,  for  example,  trem- 
bling on  your  right  ! 

Author.  Even  so,  Undine  or  Eumela.  Do  you  per- 
ceive the  air  grow  chill  ? 

Lady.  Yes,  and  the  cause  :  the  sun  is  disappearing 
behind  that  pine-covered  bank  on  our  right.  Our  passage 
grows  more  and  more  dusky. 

Author.  How  wide  do  you  conceive  the  ravine  to  be 
at  the  top,  from  bank  to  bank  ? 


181 

Lady.  About  fifty  feet.  How  gracefully  those  white 
birches  shoot  up  the  two  steeps  ! 

Author.  You  remember  who  calls  the  birch  "  the 
lady  of  the  woods." 

Lady.  The  same  poet,  who  calls  it  "  most  beautiful 
of  forest-trees."  —  But  see,  our  companion  here,  the  brook, 
is  not  entirely  a  Persian  mute,  where  it  sprays  over  the 
rock  in  the  channel.  Should  your  Almadora  come  down 
this  way  — 

Author.     '  Winding  at  its  own  sweet  will '  — 

Lady.  Would  it  not  find  or  make  room  enough  for  its 
onward  sweep  ? 

Author.  Yes,  the  whole  Almadora  might  here  pour 
its  collected  waters  through,  in  one  mighty  stream. 

Lady.  And  the  whole  Merrimac,  our  own  Merrimac, 
united  with  it. 

Author.  Will  you  believe  it  ?  Nay,  you  must  believe 
it :  this  very  rivulet,  by  which  we  are  walking  and  exclaim- 
ing, like  that  of  the  sweet  wayward  Undine,  is  here  setting 
oft  in  quest  of  adventures,  .  .  .  seeking  its  fortune.  It 
sinks  into  the  ground  on  yonder  grass-plat,  near  that  snowy 
stump,  filtrates  deeply  through  the  hill,  gushes  out  half  a 
mile  eastward,  forms  a  fountain  of  the  first  water,  then 
turns  to  the  right,  flows  onward  in  its  frolicsome  meander- 
ing to  the  Almadora,  and  so  keeps  moving,  till,  passing 
the  scenes  of  magic  reality  which  I  have  attempted  to 
describe,  it  reaches  the  ocean. 

Lady.  Well,  —  ive  are  yet  moving  through  this  chill 
but  enchanting  obscurity,  though,  I  trust,  not  quite  to  the 
ocean. 

Author.  Winding  round  to  the  north.  Daylight  is 
brightening. 

Lady.     The  sunny  influences  are  welcome. 

Author.  But  as  yet,  you  perceive,  they  produce  no 
impression  on  this  world  of  frostwork.  The  brook  has 
entirely  vanished.  Had  it  not  preferred  a  more  romantic 
passage,  it  might  have  run  where  we  are  stepping  over 
this  fine  turf,  our  shoes  covered  with  sparkles  — 

Lady.  Or  spangles,  —  like  Sindbad  the  Sailor,  in  his 
Valley  of  Diamonds. 

Author.  Twenty  rods  further: — Ah,  we  are  now 
16 


182 

treading  the  very  border  of  that  scene,  which  "  nature 
created  in  silence  "  and  love.  Here  the  rugged  ravine 
widens  at  once.  It  forms  a  circular  glade  of  more  than 
five  hundred  feet  diameter,  and  completely  terminates  the 
view,  as  well  as  its  own  course. 

Lady.  This  bottom  is  level  as  a  calm  lake  ;  smooth 
and  delightful  to  the  tread,  as  these  brown  tufts  of  grass, 
thick-inwoven,  can  make  it. 

Author.  It  is  truly  a  magic  inclosure  ;  a  genuine 
"  corner  of  calmness  ;  "  suitable  for  Oberon,  Titania,  Puck, 
and  Co.  to  foot  it  upon,  under  some  Midsummer  Night's 
moon.  Well,  —  good  people  and  true  are  footing  it  now. 
Are  these  circling  banks  a  hundred  feet  high  ?  Their 
steep  sides,  crowded  with  oak,  birch,  white  poplar,  beech, 
and  maple,  intertwisted  with  thickets  of  thorn  and  under- 
brush of  every  name,  and  surmounted  by  pines  forming  a 
wall  of  verdure,  render  all  escape  impracticable,  except  by 
retracing  the  tongue  of  our  Jewsharp. 

Lady.  Who  wishes  to  escape  ?  —  Not  a  breath  of  wind 
reaches  us  here.  How  perfectly  still  !  But  look  at  those 
fringed  wood-tops  above,  waving  in  the  breeze  like  war- 
plumes. 

Author.  And  let  your  eye  glance  round  the  whole 
of  this  magnificent  interiour,  from  the  surface  to  the  sum- 
mit, all  white  with  interwoven  silver,  or  luminous  wTith 
gems,  —  as  if  it  were  actually  a  thousand  yards  torn  off 
from  the  Milky  Way.  O  that  those  High-priests  of  Nature, 
Coleridge,  Southey,  and  Wordsworth,  were  here, 
viewing  this  mighty  sweep  of  circumference,  made  almost 
uniform  and  imbodied  by  frostwork  ! 

Lady.  Or  Bryant,  the  poetic  hope  of  our  own  coun- 
try. But  not  even  the  breath  of  fame  penetrates  to  this 
seclusion.     Here  is  no  sound  of  the  living  world  — 

Author.  Save  the  note  of  that  blue-jay,  you  see  flying 
across. 

Lady.  And  Moore's  "  woodpecker  tapping  the  hollow 
beech  tree." 

Author.  See  the  speckled  rogue  sticking  to  that  de- 
cayed pine.  With  what  ease  he  clings  to  the  under  side 
of  that  old  branch  !  Do  you  know  his  aim  ?  He  is 
cleverly  stealing  the   kernels  of  corn,  which  the  careless 


183 

jay  has  imperfectly  tucked  under  the  bark.  See  him  dart 
up  that  dry  picturesque  pine-top,  which  like  a  mast  rises 
above  its  evergreen  brethren.  He  is  sharpening  his  bill 
on  the  very  pinnacle. 

Lady.  But  there  is  a  sound,  a  "  soft  and  soul-like 
sound,"  a  low  deep  melody,  —  something  that  is  not 
earthly.  Does  that  hollow  murmur  come  from  the  wind, 
passing  through  this  vast  circumference  of  boughs  ? 

Author.  Let  a  line  of  Young  express  its  mystic,  — 
its  almost  supernatural  power  : 

Like  voice  of  "  seas  remote  or  dying  storms." 

Is  it  the  same,  as  that  sound  of  a  going  or  motion  in  the 
tops  of  the  mulberry  trees,  mentioned  in  Scripture?  —  A 

year  or  two  since,  my  friend  G ,  in  order  to  hear  this 

playing  of  Nature's  instrument,  entered  this  glade  by  climb- 
ing up  some  forbidden  way. 

Lady.     And  what  was  the  consequence  ? 

Author.  He  got  himself  more  effectually  scratched, 
than  a  dozen  grimalkins  could  have  done  it  for  him.  —  One 
view  more 

Lady.     Another ! 

Author.  One  view  more  completes  the  panorama. 
From  this  immense  area,  chequered  with  shadow  and 
sunshine,  its  wall  sparkling  with  gems  of  many-coloured 
lustre,  and  yet  dim  and  visionary  as  a  sparry  cavern, 

Lady.  Forgive  my  interrupting  you  again,  but  this 
feature  of  your  panorama  I  consider  more  exquisite  than 
all  the  rest;  —  this  many  coloured  lustre,  yet  dim  and 
visionary  as  that  of  your  Lovers'  Grotto.  The  author  of 
the  'Sylphs  of  the  Seasons,'  —  would  that  he  were  this 
moment  here  with  us,  —  here  to  see  the  wonders  that  we 
are  seeing  ! 

Author.  Still,  whatever  marvels  of  poetry  his  Sylph 
of  Winter  might  embody,  must  he  not  feel  that  all  power 
of  the  sister  art,  even  art  admirable  as  his  own,  would  be 
inadequate  to  embody  a  vision  so  divine  as  this  ? 

Lady.  Unquestionably,  and  for  this  very  reason  he 
would  delight  to  confess  the  inimitable  touches  of  Nature. 

Author.  Yes,  the  Hand  of  God  himself.  I  am  most 
happy  to  share  with  you  this  feeling  or  impression  of  yours. 


184 

Nothing  in  nature  or  art,  nothing  I  mean  of  still-life  pictu- 
resque, have  I  seen  equal  to  it.  —  Well,  from  all  you  con- 
template below  and  around,  lift  up  your  eyes,  and  behold 
that  purest  canopy  of  heaven,  resting  on  the  glorious  cir- 
cumference. 

Lady.  A  majestic  dome  of  sapphire  for  this  temple  of 
Nature.  The  world  is  far  away,  —  and  unregardful  as 
remote  ;  but,  like  yonder  brightest  azure,  a  way  is  forever 
open,  up  to  the  secret  pavilion  of  the  Almighty.  I  seem 
to  see  your  Old  Man  of  the  Island,  rising  above  this 
circling  wall,  and  fading  from  the  gaze  into  heaven. 

Author.  That  mysterious  old  man,  —  I  am  glad  you 
remember  him. 

Lady.  O  yes,  and  what  a  rich  gift  he  gave  your  young 
student  of  the  Almadora. 

Author.  Another,  and  yet  another  farewell  look, — 
and  I  accompany  you,  dear  Madam,  to  our  Inner  Temple, 
where  a  warm  atmosphere  will  give  a  feeling  of  welcome 
to  our  faces,  and  where  a  smile  of  welcome  will  salute  our 
heart  of  heart. 

Lady.  And  my  wonder  and  delight  are  a  thousand-fold 
superiour  to  what  I  anticipated.  Your  scene  of  lonely 
nature  is  more  than  magic,  unless,  as  you  somewhere  ob- 
serve, the  perfection  of  magic  is  no  more  than  the  simplici- 
ty of  nature.  It  may  not  produce  the  same  excitement, 
as  the  wanderings  of  imagination  sometimes  do,  but  it  has 
surely  awakened  an  emotion  in  me  not  less  powerful. 

Author.  Your  sympathy  is  most  grateful  to  me.  It 
heightens  and  justifies  my  own  enthusiasm. 

Lady.  That  I  am  most  grateful  for  the  privilege,  with 
which  you  have  this  morning  indulged  me,  I  need  not  say. 
It  is  a  scene  of  more  than  imperial  attributes,  to  which  you 
have  introduced  me.  Nothing  can  be  more  just  than  the 
common-place  remark,  that,  to  be  felt,  such  a  miracle  of 
nature  as  this  must  be  seen  ;  and  no  wonder,  in  a  place 
like  this,  that  troops  of  supernatural  friends  and  foes  come 
clustering  around  you. 

Author.  It  is  a  scene  of  miraculous  beauty  ;  but 
should  you  again  visit  these  banks,  in  Midsummer,  as  I 
hope  and  trust  you  will,  I  promise  myself  the  privilege  of 
accompanying  you  to  this  same  spot,  under  another  form  of 


185 

enchantment,  —  arrayed  in  the  verdant  glory  of  its  summer 
robes. 

Lady.  I  shall  long  for  the  time,  —  nay  more,  as  some 
of  my  friends  are  wont  to  do,  —  I  shall  doubtless  dream  of 
the  enjoyment  to  come.  Meanwhile,  as  the  mind's  eye 
sometimes  has  a  finer  vision  than  that  of  the  body,  what  if 
you  make  a  picture  of  our  Winter  Walk  this  morning  ? 
You  may  aid  those  who  have  never  been  here,  in  forming 
some  conception  of  what  they  have  never  seen. 

Author.  With  such  materials  before  me,  it  would  be 
more  difficult  to  deny  myself  the  pleasure,  than  to  make 
the  attempt.  —  But  here  we  are  again,  and  the  Inner 
Temple  opens  to  receive  us ;  and  what  is  more,  we  feel 
this  warm  welcome  to  be  no  dream  or  illusion  of  the 
senses. 

December  8.  1817. 


16* 


FAITHFUL  OR  FALSE? 


CHAPTER  I. 


WHO  MEET  ON  MAY-DAT  MORNING. 


On  the  northern  bank  of  the  Almadora,  not  far  above 
where  this  river  becomes  united  with  the  waters  of  the 
ocean,  rises  a  hill  that  resembles  an  immense  dome.  It 
is  an  eminence  of  such  elevation  as  to  be  discerned  afar 
off  on  the  sea,  and  by  way  of  courtesy  to  be  sometimes 
called  a  mountain. 

Up  this  eminence  or  mountain-side,  whichever  you  may 
choose  to  name  it,  I  was  rambling  on  May-day  morning. 
A  few  stars  yet  twinkled  in  the  blue  heaven,  and  the  air 
wafted  a  freshness  undreamed-of  by  the  slumberer  ;  when 
winding  round  a  lofty  projection  of  rock,  I  met  the  fairest 
being  fashioned  in  the  image  of  God.  The  blush  of  the 
east  glowed  on  her  cheek  ;  her  eye  was  dark,  and  sparkled 
with  the  fire  of  the  soul  ;  while  her  slender  form,  habited 
in  white,  displayed  the  airy  charm  of  perfection  without  a 
name.  She  at  once  stood  revealed  before  me  like  a  vision. 
With  modest  confusion,  a  smile  at  the  same  time  playing 
on  her  lips,  she  said  the  beauty  of  this  rural  anniversary 
had  invited  her  abroad,  to  gather  the  earliest  flowers,  and 
to  enjoy  the  freshness  of  the  season.  Her  voice  was  melo- 
dy, the  very  sweetness  of  melody,  and  its  peculiar  tone 
indicated  that  the  Italian  was  her  native  language.  Culling 
violets,  wind-flowers,  and  snowdrops,  I  interwove  a  wreath, 
and,  crowning  her  queen  of  the  morning,  begged  leave  to 


187 

join  her  in  her  mountain  excursion.     So  we  turned  a  little 
to  the  right,  and  moved  on  together. 

As  we  entered  a  small  valley  of  the  mountain,  we  ap- 
proached the  grassy  mounds  of  two  graves,  each  marked 
by  a  simple  head-stone  of  white  marble,  and  my  companion 
inquired  for  whom  these  memorials  were  erected. 

"  For  two  foreigners,"  I  answered,  "  a  father  and  son. 
Alberto  Gherardi,  the  son,  was  a  very  dear  friend  of  mine. 
I  call  him  friend  ;  for  although  considerably  older  than 
myself,  he  was  one  of  the  first  playmates  of  my  boyhood, 
and  his  virtues  and  affectionate  spirit  claim  my  tenderest 
remembrance." 

Possibly  it  was  a  misapprehension,  but  when  I  pro- 
nounced the  name,  Gherardi,  I  thought  I  perceived  in 
the  lady  a  slight  agitation,  as  she  begged  me  to  mention 
some  of  the  circumstances  of  their  fate. 

"  It  is  now  about  seventeen  years,"  I  replied,  observing 
her  emotion,  "  since  the  elder  Gherardi,  owing  to  domestic 
affliction  and  some  difficulties  of  a  political  nature,  emigrated 
from  Italy.  He  brought  with  him  an  honourable  compe- 
tence, and  devoted  himself  almost  exclusively  to  the  edu- 
cation of  his  son.  But  the  constitution  of  Alherto  was 
feeble,  and  so  impaired  by  his  too  closely  applying  himself 
to  study,  that  frequent  excursions  by  sea  and  land  were 
required  to  restore  or  preserve  his  health. 

"  Returning  from  one  of  these,  a  trip  of  several  months 
to  the  Bermudas,  and  that  "  Queen  of  Western  Isles," 
Barbadoes,  he  hastened  to  meet  the  warm  welcome  of 
home.  Still  a  presentiment  of  evil,  to  which  his  imagina- 
tive mind,  as  well  as  the  feebleness  of  his  frame,  too  often 
disposed  him,  mingled  with  this  longing  of  his  heart. 

"  The  sun  had  set  when  he  arrived.  An  aged  domestic 
met  him  at  the  door.  The  first  word  he  heard,  —  alas  ! 
it  was  the  '  thunder-word'  of  the  knight  of  Toggenburg, 
—  told  him  all : — his  father  was  no  more.  He  had  been 
drowned  in  attempting  to  save  a  little  brother  of  mine, 
who  overset  his  boat  on  the  river,  and  he  was  now  reposing 
in  that  grave. 

"  A  few  friends  endeavoured  to  alleviate  the  pressure  of 
Alberto's  sorrow.  But  what  are  the  soothings  even  of 
friendship  and  affection!  —  The  shock  he  had  received, 


188 

was  too  violent  for  his  present  weakness  :  for  a  considerable 
time  it  deprived  him  of  reason.  He  however  had  a  tem- 
porary recovery,  but  he  was  fully  sensible  of  his  situation." 

"  And  was  the  death  of  your  friend,"  asked  the  lady, 
"  lingering  or  rapid  ?  I  am  more  interested  in  what  you 
tell  me  of  Alberto  and  his  father,  than  you  might  expect 
me  to  be  for  persons  I  never  saw  ;  but  I  am  myself  a 
stranger,  and  from  the  same  dear  region  of  Italy.  Blessed 
be  the  kind  spirits,  that  pitied,  consoled,  and  relieved  !  " 

Grateful  for  this  sympathy,  I  replied  with  emotion  : 
"  One  evening  when  I  visited  my  friend,  he  invited  me  to 
take  a  walk  with  him  by  the  river-side.  The  full  moon 
was  pouring  her  light  over  hill  and  river,  mountain  and 
ravine.  For  a  long  while  we  were  absorbed  in  reverie  ; 
but  a  view  of  the  moon  gleaming  on  the  water,  and  a 
strain  of  music  which  seemed  to  float  with  her  radiance 
over  the  wave,  gradually  recalled  our  thoughts.  Alberto 
addressed  me  : 

"  '  My  friend,  St.  Helier,'  said  he,  '  often  amid  my 
wanderings,  when  far  from  the  scenes  of  home,  often  have 
I  sunk  in  reveries  like  this.  The  bird-nesting  we  used  to 
have  on  Woodhill,  the  squirrel-hunting  among  the  oaks 
and  walnuts  of  Ox-Common,  the  snaring  of  partridges  in 
Birch-Swamp,  and  pickerel-fishing  along  the  shores  of 
Great  Pond,  —  these  were  all  most  vivid  in  remembrance. 
My  soul  hovered,  too,  over  my  father.  Every  word  of 
admonition  lost  its  severity ;  every  little  incident,  a  serious 
or  witty  remark,  a  lively  or  plaintive  song,  some  striking  or 
whimsical  originality,  and  a  thousand  nameless  associations 
mixed  with  the  memory  of  home.  —  At  last  I  have  returned 
to  a  home  of  death,  —  and  returned  myself  only  to  die.' 

"  I  entreated  him  not  to  indulge  a  presage  like  this,  but 
rather  to  look  forward  to  a  gradual  restoration.  He  replied 
with  a  melancholy  smile,  while  a  flash  of  wildness  illumined 
his  features  : 

"  '  I  know  rny  situation  to  be  dangerous,  but  I  hope  I 
am  resigned.  Nay  more,  I  long  to  rejoin  my  parents  in  a 
happier  world.  Yonder  curtain  of  God  separates  us,  —  and 
who  can  say  how  little  !  —  from  the  awful  mysteries  to 
which  they  are  admitted,  —  awful  and  yet  lovely.  When 
will  this  veil  be  removed  ?     When  will  the  heavens  be 


189 

folded  up  ?  Oh  when  will  the  light  of  eternity  shine 
around  and  within  us?  And  are  the  souls  that  are  gone, 
thus  imprisoned  ?  Are  they  no  more  suffered  to  revisit 
these  scenes  of  earth?  —  Even  now,  even  now  imagination 
views  their  hovering  forms.  They  whisper  in  the  trem- 
blings of  this  music  around  us.  They  call  their  weary 
wanderer  home.  Take  me,  take  me,  O  God,  to  thyself.' 
—  Such  was  the  bursting  forth  of  his  feelings. 

"  We  now  arrived  at  the  mountain  valley,  where  his 
father  had  been  laid, — at  the  very  spot  where  we  now 
stand.  He  flung  himself  upon  that  green  turf,  and  groaned 
with  agony  and  bitterness  of  heart. 

"At  length  commanding  his  feelings,  and  as  if  awaking 
from  a  transient  delirium,  he  told  me  his  motive  for  this 
visit. 

"  '  This,'  said  he,  '  is  a  congenial  scene.  It  seems  to 
be  the  very  threshold  of  another  world.  I  have  led  you 
hither  for  a  particular  purpose.  You  have  always  been 
interested  in  my  welfare  :  you  will  oversee  my  burial. 
Lay  me  here  by  the  side  of  my  father.  The  clods  of  the 
valley  will  be  sweet  to  me.  Here  will  end  my  earth,  and 
here  will  commence  my  heaven  ;  that  heaven,  where  I 
shall  remember  your  tender  assiduities  in  life  and  death  ; 
and  where,  if  permitted,  I  shall  strive  to  recompense  you 
with  the  love  of  a  brother,  —  a  love  stronger  than  death. 

"  '  One  earthly  wish,'  he  added,  '  I  have  but  one  earthly 
wish  remaining.  When  my  father  came  to  this  country, 
he  left  an  infant  daughter,  whom  for  many  years  we  have 
supposed  to  be  no  more  ;  but  this  very  evening  I  have  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  Palermo,  which  informs  me  that  my 
sister  is  not  only  alive,  a  very  lovely  and  accomplished 
girl,  but  that  she  has  become  affluent  by  the  bequest  of 
her  benefactress,  and  has  already  embarked  for  this  resi- 
dence of  her  father  and  brother,  her  only  connexions  now 
living.  Oh,  should  I  too  be  summoned  away  before  my 
sister's  arrival,  will  you,  as  the  friend  of  her  brother,  re- 
ceive her  ?  will  you  soften  the  severity  of  her  trial  ?  and 
should  your  affectionate  heart  find  in  her,  as  1  fondly  hope 
it  will,  all  that  it  languishes  to  find  in  woman,  it  would  be 
a  smile  of  Providence,  and  would  heighten  the  bliss  even 
of  my  spiritual  existence.' 


190 

"  My  tears  testified  my  willingness  to  gratify  his  wishes. 

"  Alberto  survived  several  weeks.  We  frequently  en- 
joyed the  same  walk,  and  he  invariably  visited  this  green 
mound  of  his  father's  grave.  He  would  lean  against  this 
tomb-stone  I  had  erected,  and  gaze  now  upon  the  sprinkled 
starlights  of  the  town,  now  upon  the  southern  cliffs  and 
western  hills  wrapped  in  shade,  and  now  listen  to  the  waves 
rippling  along  the  shore.  He  ever  loved  the  shadowy 
features  and  intermitting  voices  of  night.  Sometimes  he 
touched  on  his  flute  a  few  low  notes  of  some  plaintive 
Italian  air  ;  he  seemed  also  to  be  never  weary  of  playing 
some  of  the  Irish  and  Scottish  melodies,  —  Gramachree, 
Ettrick  Banks,  Silent,  O  Moyl^'the  Last  Rose  of  Summer, 
the  Demon  Lover,  and  that  deep  wail  of  the  heart,  Cath- 
rine  Ogie  ;  and  sometimes  he  appeared  to  be  holding  mys- 
terious intercourse  with  the  spirit  of  his  father. 

"  Alberto  gave  me  the  following  stanzas  the  evening 
before  his  departure.  Having  wandered  forth  at  midnight, 
he  had  reclined  upon  the  margin  of  the  Almadora,  and  as 
his  soul  felt  the  deep  repose  of  nature,  he  heard,  or  for  a 
moment  seemed  to  hear,  a  strain  of  such  entrancing  sweet- 
ness, that  he  averred  the  melody  must  have  come  from  a 
lonely  spirit  over  the  water.  Was  it  the  delusion  of  a 
melancholy  mind  ?  Was  it  the  last  soothing  of  his  guard- 
ian angel  ?  Or  was  it  a  voice  from  the  invisible  world, — 
the  voice  of  his  father,  calling  him  away  ? 

The  summer  moon  her  lustre  gave 
To  Almadora's  charmed  wave, 

And  viewed  her  beauty  there  ; 
No  breath  of  Zephyr  broke  the  tide, 
Repose  its  reign  extended  wide 

Amid  the  dewy  air  : 

When  wafted  o'er  the  slumbering  stream, 
And  mingling  with  the  lunar  beam, 

A  flow  of  music  stole  ; 
The  flowing  note,  so  soft  and  mild, 
So  trembling  sweet,  so  sweetly  wild, 

Entranced  my  yielding  soul. 

Melodious  Power  !  thy  holy  charm 
Can  sorrow's  wildest  throb  disarm, — 

The  heart's  despairing  moan  ; 
Make  sweeping  storms  of  passion  sleep, 
And  bland  oblivion  o'er  them  creep, 

With  maffic  all  thine  own. 


191 

Soon,  soon  arrive  the  welcome  night, 
That  wings  to  bliss  my  mystic  flight 

From  this  obscure  abode  ! 
Some  seraph-minstrel  guide  me  there, 
Oh  waft  me  on  the  warbling  air 

To  realms  of  light  and  God. 

"  Dear  Alberto  !  —  he  has  been  wafted  on  angels'  wings 
to  the  abode  of  his  father.  Their  remains  now  mingle 
here  with  the  same  dust.  To  them  these  clods  of  the 
valley  are  sweet." 

My  fair  listener  was  moved  even  to  tears  at  some  of 
these  particulars,  and  expressed  the  warmest  gratitude  for 
my  kindness  to  her  countrymen.  Her  emotion  more  re- 
sembled a  personal  feeling  than  a  general  interest.  It 
seemed  to  strengthen  our  dawn  of  attachment. 

And  were  we  victims  of  the  soft  passion  so  soon  ?  Could 
its  mystic  influence  so  soon  hover  around  our  hearts,  and 
become  a  mutual  feeling  ?  so  speedily  form  but  one  pure 
atmosphere,  in  which  wTe  lived,  moved,  and  had  our  being  ? 
The  breath  of  love  has  a  transforming  an  amalgamating 
power.  I  know  not  how  it  happened,  but  I  drew  her  arm 
within  mine,  as  we  explored  these  scenes  of  wild  nature  : 
or  side  by  side,  resting  on  the  trunk  of  an  uprooted  oak, 
we  examined  the  mosses  and  unfolding  buds  of  spring  ;  or 
absorbed  in  visions  to  come,  we  found  no  end  to  these  day- 
dreams of  the  heart,  till  we  came  home  to  ourselves  in  the 
world  of  reality. 

While  we  were  thus  pausing  or  moving  forward,  hovering 
between  the  world  of  the  heart  and  the  world  of  every-day 
life,  and  dreaming  of  means  to  make  them  one,  how  bliss- 
fully the  moments  flew  !  We  could  have  welcomed  an 
age  of  such  intercourse ;  but  envious  time  now  warned  mv 
woodnymph  to  return. 

Having  insensibly  reached  the  summit  of  the  mountain 
as  the  Sun  rose,  we  watched  his  orb  emerging  from  the 
Ocean,  and  smiling,  as  we  imagined,  on  this  commencement 
of  our  being.  A  world  lay  unbounded  beneath  us.  As 
we  surveyed  the  harmonious  assemblage  of  nature's  varie- 
ties ; — woods,  whose  embryo  leaves  were  moistened  with 
dew  ;  streams,  winding  through  fertile  vales,  or  partially 
concealed  by  clustering  vapour  ;  smoke,  curling  and  melting 
over  village  tops  ;  the  spires  of  a  distant  city  ;  the  noble 


192 

Almadora,  the  life  and  pride  of  the  landscape  through  which 
it  passed ;  the  moving  gleam  of  the  ocean  ;  a  vessel  of 
flame,  in  the  remote  horizon,  sailing  across  the  disk  of  the 
sun;  —  inspired  by  views  like  these,  our  hearts  sponta- 
neously breathed  a  prayer  of  gratitude  to  that  Benevolence, 
which  spoke  into  being  the  beauteous  fabric  of  the  universe. 

I  would  have  urged  my  new  friend  to  prolong  her  ramble, 
or  I  would  have  gladly  accompanied  her  home ;  but  as  I 
thought  I  perceived  in  her  an  air  of  reluctance,  and  a 
crowd  of  frolicsome  girls  were  now  approaching,  preceded 
by  an  insidious,  dark-looking  fellow,  whom  I  instinctively 
knew  for  an  enemy,  we  unwillingly  separated.  I  had  only 
time  to  whisper  a  hope,  that  I  should  not  intrude  by  calling 
at  her  place  of  residence,  —  ere  she  was  gone.  She  was 
gone,  and  where  was  I  ?  More  alone  than  I  had  ever 
been  in  my  whole  life.  —  Yet  not  alone,  for  what  associa- 
tions came  swarming  around  me  ! 

A  mutual  eye-beam,  if  I  may  use  the  wrord,  had  con- 
firmed our  wish  to  meet  again.  I  stood  motionless  on  a 
cliff,  admiring  her  elastic  step,  and  marking  her  every  move- 
ment, even  her  white  robe,  ruffled  or  smoothed  by  the 
breeze,  as  she  bounded  down  the  western  descent.  At  the 
bottom  she  stopped,  looked  back  a  moment,  and  noticing 
my  statue-like  posture,  playfully  waved  her  wreath  of 
flowers,  and  disappeared  behind  a  grove  of  willows.  Her 
fairy  figure  still  floated  before  me. 

The  peasant  girls,  having  in  the  mean  time  encircled  the 
cliff,  archly  inquired  what  star  I  was  gazing  at  so  intently. 
Alas,  my  bright  particular  star  had  set ;  or,  as  my  reader 
will  say,  had  gone  down.  I  turned  toward  Roberto,  as  I 
heard  some  of  the  laughers  speaking  his  name :  his  face 
was  half  averted,  but  the  eye  and  lineaments  that  I  could 
see,  were  the  same  that  Fuseli  summoned  before  him,  when 
he  gave  immortality  to  the  fiend  of  night.  They  all  rallied 
me.  My  musings  of  heaven  could  ill  brook  their  pleasant- 
ries. I  left  them  in  their  mirth,  and  returned  down  the 
eastern  declivity,  pondering  upon  my  May-morning  adven- 
ture. Twenty  times  did  the  thought  of  my  heart  rise  to 
my  lips,  '  Is  not  this  the  expected  sister  of  Alberto  ?  May 
Heaven  realize  to  me  this  blessed  vision  of  hope  !  this  one 
earthly  wish  that  remained  to  my  friend  ! ' 


CHAPTER    II. 


A  LADY'S  LOVE  AND  A  LOVER'S  MADNESS. 


Impatient  as  I  was  to  meet  my  nymph  of  the  woods 
again,  it  was  not  in  my  power  to  do  so  either  that  day  or 
the  next.  Being  obliged  to  leave  home  for  two  days,  I 
could  neither  see  her,  nor  hear  from  her,  till  I  returned  on 
the  third  day  toward  night.  But  my  spirit  had  reposed  on 
her  image,  —  had  dwelt  upon  her  smile  ;  when  just  before 
sunset,  while  I  was  traversing  my  garden,  wrapt  in  this 
meditative  mood,  and  dreaming  of  a  second  interview  in 
the  evening,  as  I  happened  to  glance  my  eye  over  my 
right  shoulder,  —  like  the  superstitious  looking  after  the 
new  moon,  —  I  perceived  a  very  diminutive  urchin,  the 
veriest  mite  of  a  boy.  He  was  arrayed  in  a  Roman  toga, 
that  seemed  to  have  been  cut  out  of  the  blue  sky,  so 
sparkling  was  it  with  gems  and  starry  frostwork.  Hastily 
advancing  through  my  entry,  he  came  into  the  garden,  and 
handed  me  this  billet  unsealed  : 

To  the  Rambler  of  the  Mountain. 

Do  you  then,  St.  Helier,  remember  me  no  more  ?  Or  if 
you  do  remember  me  with  the  pleasure,  that  your  eyes 
seemed  to  speak  at  our  taking  leave  three  mornings  ago, 
( pray  forgive  this  unfeminine  complaint,)  why  have  you 
not,  by  visiting  my  humble  residence,  made  me  an  eye  and 
ear  witness  to  the  goodness  of  your  memory  ?  The  idle 
and  the  envious,  the  simple  and  the  impertinent,  provoke 
me  incessantly.  A  look  of  dignity  will  scarcely  restrain 
17 


194 

their  curiosity.  It  is  a  mode  of  treatment,  to  which  a 
stranger  is  not  accustomed.  —  I  needed  a  friend  in  a  strange 
land,  and  I  fondly  hoped  I  had  found  one  in  you. 

Our  accidental  meeting  has  occasioned  me  many  happy 
and  many  unhappy  reflections ;  but  if  we  are  to  meet  no 
more,  I  must  remove  beyond  the  reach  of  calumny  and 
impertinence. 

Alas,  I  fear  you  have  forgotten  your  ramble  of  May- 
morning,  as  well  as  your  companion  of  '  that  sweet  hour  of 
prime.'  Bertha. 

I  cannot  remember  her  words  with  precision,  —  I  wish  it 
were  in  my  power,  —  but  I  am  positive  there  was  an  errour 
of  idiom  or  two,  reminding  me  of  foreign  modes  of  ex- 
pression, that  were  inestimably  dear. 

"  She  needed  a  friend  in  a  strange  land,  and  fondly 
hoped  she  had  found  one  in  me."  —  How  I  pitied  her  un- 
deserved vexation  !  All  too  on  my  own  account ;  and  how 
exquisitely  was  I  affected  by  her  artless  confession !  It 
corresponded  with  the  undisguised  simplicity  of  her  char- 
acter.—  Ah,  thought  I,  were  Bertha  the  sister  of  Alberto, 
were  she  indeed  Bertha  Gherardi,  I  should  be  too  happy. 
Who  knows  but  she  may  be  ?  The  fond  hope  of  Alberto, 
what  he  called  his  sole  earthly  wish,  may  have  induced  her 
to  withhold  the  acknowledgment.  —  It  must  be  so. — 

I  perused  and  reperused  the  lines  with  an  ecstasy,  which 
I  am  altogether  unable  to  express.  Pressing  my  lips  to 
them  a  thousand  times,  and  seeming  as  often,  in  my  im- 
passioned state  of  mind,  to  press  their  author  to  my  heart, 
I  resolved  to  make  her  Mercury  wait  till  I  could  write  one 
word  of  answer,  which,  after  an  engagement  of  a  few  mo- 
ments, I  intended  to  follow  in  person.  How  long  it  seemed 
since  I  had  seen  her !  and  yet  had  I  not  been  with  her  the 
whole  time? 

We  were  now  just  entering  my  library,  and  I  was  going 
to  my  desk;  when, — so  some  demon  seemed  to  have  de- 
creed, —  four  intruders  rudely  burst  into  the  room,  and 
at  their  head  the  same  malevolent  Domdanielite,  whose 
ominous  visage  had  lowered  disaster  upon  me,  the  morning 
I  met  Bertha  on  the  mountain.  A  satisfaction  that  came 
and  went,  faded  and  revived,  like  the  dewy  hues  of  ven- 
om on  the  back  of  a  serpent,  overspread  bis  countenance. 


195 

They  sat  clown.  My  Ariel  gave  me  a  very  peculiar 
look  and  vanished,  my  undefined  rapture  vanished  with 
him,  and  the  fiercest  indignation  shook  my  frame.  My 
eyes  must  have  flashed  fire.  Is  it  impossible  to  suppress 
the  frenzied  swellings  of  rage  ?  Assuredly  it  is  not  impos- 
sible, for  I  did  suppress  them.  Although  my  smothered 
fury  longed  to  burst,  to  mount,  to  flame,  politeness,  —  ac- 
cursed politeness  I  was  tempted  to  call  it,  —  forbade  that 
I  should  treat  the  interlopers  with  absolute  neglect  or  con- 
tempt. I  did  not  wish  them  annihilated,  sunk  in  the 
abysses  of  the  Styx,  or  hurled  beyond  the  flaming  bound- 
aries of  the  universe,  but  as  I  then  felt,  I  fear  I  should  not 
have  grieved  at  any  catastrophes  of  this  kind,  which  it 
might  please  Heaven  to  send  them.  As  they  had  effectu- 
ally discomposed  me,  and  apparently  could  not  heighten 
my  discomposure,  they  went  away  after  an  hour's  treat  of 
frigid  civility.  But  to  do  them  no  injustice,  they  once, 
however  incredible  it  may  seem,  gave  me  exquisite 
pleasure  :  — they  all  concurred  in  condemning  the  author 
of  Madoc,  a  poet  whom  I  had  for  many  years  admired 
and  loved.  I  never  was  more  gratified,  even  in  hearing 
him  receive  most  deserved  applause  from  the  lips  of  genius. 
So  formed  is  the  human  mind. 

Here  let  me  pause  a  moment,  and  acknowledge  myself 
to  blame  for  this  disproportionate  excitement :  it  discovered 
a  want  of  wisdom,  an  impatience  of  temperament,  wholly 
unpardonable.  Something  might  be  said  in  extenuation,  — 
that  the  malice  of  Roberto  designed  to  blast  my  promised 
joy,  the  moment  Bertha's  messenger  arrived  ;  but  not  a  sin- 
gle extenuating  circumstance  will  I  bring,  conscious  that  to 
subdue  the  impulse  of  exasperation  is  a  prime  duty  ;  and  at 
the  same  time  conscious,  that  all  who  ever  suffered  a  like 
interruption,  will  have  some  sympathy  with  me  in  my  ago- 
ny, if  they  do  not  quite  so  much  execrate  my  adversary. 

After  my  engagement,  I  visited  Bertha  in  the  parlour  of 
a  modest  dwelling,  that  stood  near  the  mansion-house  of 
the  Gherardis  ;  and  the  pleasure  which  I  really  felt,  and 
which  I  fancied  I  saw  beaming  in  her  guileless  countenance, 
is  not  to  be  described.  How  I  looked,  how  I  languished, 
how  the  fatal  delusion  stole  me  from  myself!     And  was  it 


196 

a  delusion  ?  —  My  partiality  was  immoveably  fixed.  Every 
glance  from  her  eloquent  eye,  every  view  of  her  intelligent 
features,  her  every  sentiment,  expression,  and  tone  of 
voice,  deepened  my  former  impression.  O  how  I  imbibed 
the  sweetness  of  her  smile  ! 

Several  persons  came  in,  as  the  simple  manners  of  the 
place  made  all  ceremony  out  of  the  question,  and  Roberto 
came  among  them.  A  gentleman  having  a  violin,  the 
sweetest-toned  I  ever  listened  to,  played  some  sprightlier 
airs  with  superior  skill.  A  flute  was  handed  to  me,  and 
we  attempted  a  few  more  together  ;  but  as  the  instruments 
indifferently  accorded,  we  were  not  very  successful.  Nay, 
this  sounds  like  the  conventional  falsehood  of  fashionable 
life:  why  not  employ  the  exact  term,  and  say  it  was  a  mis- 
erable discord  ?  for  such  it  assuredly  was. 

Bertha  however  made  amends  for  our  failure.  At  the 
request  of  several  of  the  company,  she  timidly  seated  her- 
self at  a  piano-forte,  and  performed  some  of  the  admired 
specimens  of  Italian  music,  and  also  several  of  the  more 
simple  airs  of  Germany  and  Scotland,  so  full  of  tenderness 
and  tears.  At  last  she  selected  one,  which,  as  a  gentleman 
gave  me  to  understand,  was  her  own  composition.  She 
commenced  with  a  tremulous  hand,  and  touched  a  few  of 
the  chords  by  way  of  prelude.  With  this  accompaniment, 
she  then  sang  a  plaintive  song,  expressive  of  the  languishing 
illness  of  a  brother,  in  a  foreign  land,  among  strangers,  and 
longing  from  moment  to  moment  to  be  called  away,  she 
drew  a  gush  of  tears  from  almost  every  eye  ;  but  when  she 
sang  his  release  from  pain,  and  tears,  and  unparticipated 
anguish,  —  his  reuniting  with  endeared  friends,  his  commu- 
nion with  blessed  spirits,  and  the  sun-smile  of  a  recom- 
pensing God,  —  there  were  hearts  there  beside  my  own, 
that  were  lifted  to  a  sublimity  of  devotion,  which  to  be 
conceived  must  be  felt.  We  knew  it  to  be  the  inspiration 
of  real  feeling,  and  wre  ^ould  not  but  share  in  the  fervour 
of  her  spirit,  as  the  sounds  faded  away,  and  the  pause  of 
silence  came  on  the  soul.  It  was  a  pause  of  relief,  that 
the  sublimities  of  heaven  might  become  mellowed  down  to 
human  emotion. 

What  a  soul  actuated  that  delicate  form  !  She  appeared 
to  be  all  soul.     And  did  her  performance  afford  me  un- 


197 

mingled  satisfaction  ?  There  was  a  sentiment,  the  child  of 
genuine  but  over-refined  passion,  which  inwardly  whis- 
pered, as  in  the  instance  of  Corinna,  that  such  powers, 
exercised  on  such  a  subject,  should  not  have  been  displayed 
before  a  mixed  and  unappreciating  company,  but  reserved 
for  the  elect  alone.  After  some  struggle,  the  envious  mo- 
nopolizer was  dismissed  as  unworthy  of  us  both.  '  So  near 
grows  death  to  life.' 

Evening  had  now  passed  away  in  music  and  conver- 
sation ;  the  company  went  off  one  after  another ;  and 
finally  none  remained  but  Roberto.  He  gloomily  sat  in 
a  remote  corner  of  the  room  ;  but  just  as  I  was  rising  to 
take  a  seat  beside  the  fair  musician,  —  now  the  retired 
visitors  had  given  me  the  opportunity,  —  he  suddenly  came 
forward,  and  occupied  the  place  before  me.  My  blood 
boiled  in  my  veins.  Was  it  malicious  envy,  or  might  it 
not  be  a  real  attachment  ?  His  presence  must  be  unwel- 
come :  I  was  fully  convinced  of  Bertha's  fidelity.  To  be 
a  third  time  interrupted  by  this  black  promoter  of  mischief! 

—  I  can  hardly  name  the  outrage,  which  resentment  did 
not  move  me  to  commit.  But  I  did  not  massacre  him. 
Respect  for  a  house  I  had  never  entered  before,  aversion 
to  bringing  myself  down  to  his  level  by  altercation,  the 
peculiarity  of  my  situation,  the  remembrance  of  my  earth- 
quake violence  of  the  afternoon,  and  perhaps  a  secret  desire 
to  witness  the  repulsive  deportment  of  Bertha,  —  these 
considerations  restrained  my  tongue  and  arm  before  a  lady. 
My  violence  however  was  soon  redoubled,  and  diverted  to 
another  object.  Bertha,  —  yes,  that  emblem  of  immacu- 
late, undeceiving  simplicity,  —  Bertha  was  not  displeased 
with  the  fellow,  who  had  usurped  my  place.  They  smiled, 
they  whispered,  they  gave  reciprocal  glances.     Hypocrite ! 

—  Deceiver  !  —  Here  were  eye-beams,  —  eye-beams  of 
the  basilisk.  This  the  sister  of  Alberto  Gherardi !  —  She 
had  solicited  this  interview,  and  with  such  an  unfeminine 
forwardness,  as  it  required  both  my  infatuation  and  almost 
a  blindness  to  the  impropriety  to  excuse  ;  and  now,  while 
I  sat  agitated  with  conflicting  emotions,  love,  jealousy,  re- 
venge, amazement,  —  a  whirlwind  of  the  soul,  —  she  con- 
tinued as  tranquilly  unconcerned,  as  if  they  two  were  alone 
in  existence.     We  were  thus  situated  a  long — Oh  an  eter- 

17* 


198 

nity  to  me,  —  when  three  girls,  knocking  at  the  lower  door, 
broke  up  their  abhorred  whispers  and  my  trance  of  venge- 
ful broodings. 

These  village  girls  would  not  come  in,  but  bashfully  re- 
mained until  Bertha  went  out.  Roberto  being  nearest  to 
a  lamp,  took  it,  and  we  three  went  down  together.  While 
she  walked  a  few  rods  with  the  villagers,  and  he  stood 
holding  the  light  at  the  door,  and  smiling  maliciously  in 
my  face,  I  burnt  to  chastise  his  intrusion  and  triumph  :  to 
my  unsubjugated  spirit  what  sweetness  in  throttling  the 
fiend  !  —  The  time  and  place  were  unfit,  confusion  would 
follow,  and  my  impetuosity  would  be  construed  as  an 
affront.  —  I  might  have  had  the  wisdom  coolly  to  ask  him, 
whether  Bertha  favoured  his  pretensions  to  her  regard,  but 
passion  spurned  the  very  thought  of  a  spirit  so  tame.  I 
delayed  the  expression  of  my  resentment,  and  pursued 
another  plan. 

I  joined  the  girls.  Their  trifling  errand,  or  their  no- 
errand,  was  soon  performed.  Bertha  and  I  remained 
alone.  I  offered  to  take  her  hand,  and  lead  her  back  to 
the  house,  but  this  favour  she  refused  me  ;  and  as  I  was 
opening  my  parched  mouth  to  remonstrate,  she  flew  with 
the  rapidity  of  lightning  toward  the^houoo»  I  more  slowly 
followed.  Roberto  holding  the  lamp,  received  her,  and  in 
a  twinkling  they  were  in  the  apartment  we  had  left.  She 
supposed  me  close  at  hand,  and  in  fact  I  had  advanced  as 
far  as  the  head  of  the  stairs  ;  but  then  an  instantaneous 
effort  or  suggestion  of  judgment  arrested  me.  I  turned, 
descended,  hurried  round  the  corner  of  the  house,  as  I 
heard  her  calling  after  me,  and  distractedly  strode  away. 
Who  shall  picture  my  feelings  !  A  delirium  of  fury  and 
tenderness,  —  a  flood  of  mingled  thoughts  overwhelmed  me. 

The  evening  had  been  changeful  :  sometimes  the  sky 
was  completely  obscured  with  masses  of  vapour,  and  some- 
times brilliant  glimpses  of  the  moon  and  stars  were  caught 
between  them.  The  night  was  now  becoming  dark  and 
tempestuous.  The  wind  howled  through  the  forest  of  the 
mountain,  which  almost  reached  the  village  on  the  south 
and  the  ocean  on  the  east,  and  amid  its  wild  sweeps  the 
surge  was  heard  heavily  dashing  on  the  beach.  The 
sounds,  the  darkness,  the  midnight  hour,  were  in  unison 


199 

with  ray  soul.  I  bent  my  course  over  the  mountain,  visited 
every  spot  where  we  had  rambled  on  the  morning  we  met, 
leaned  a  few  minutes  on  the  grave-stones  of  the  Gherardis, 
dwelt  on  the  coming  of  the  fair  stranger  from  Palermo, 
mounted  the  cliff,  and  gazed  toward  the  village  I  had  left ; 
but,  —  one  little  window  excepted,  —  all  was  wrapt  in  un- 
distinguishable  gloom. 

Was  the  glimmering  from  Bertha's  apartment  ?  —  Mad- 
ness ! —  Distraction!  —  Like  a  perturbed  spirit,  I  flung 
myself  down  the  craggy  declivities  ;  plunged  into  the 
thickest  woods  ;  invoked  the  phantoms  that  rushed  on  the 
pinions  of  the  storm  ;  traversed  unheedingly  the  adjacent 
country  ;  and  at  last  found  myself  on  the  margin  of  the 
deep.  The  billows  raved  and  burst.  The  wind  swept 
over  the  waste.  It  was  a  scene,  that  well  accorded  with 
my  state  of  feeling. 

I  sat  down  on  a  fragment  of  a  mast.  There,  as  I  re- 
volved my  fate,  —  my  imbittered  fate,  —  I  heard  in  a  pause 
of  the  ocean-roar,  I  distinctly  heard  these  emphatic  words, 
as  they  came  over  the  sea  :  "  Bertha  is  faithful  !  "  I 
sprang  from  the  sand,  and  listened  breathlessly  ;  but  the 
sounds  had  mingled  with  the  weltering  of  the  waves.  In 
the  next  pause  a  few  faint  notes  vibrated  on  my  ear,  and 
for  a  moment  the  moon  burst  from  a  broken  cloud.  A  dim 
form,  as  I  turned  my  face  toward  the  sound,  was  melting 
into  the  foam  of  the  beach.  It  was  a  glimpse  of  the  mes- 
senger of  Bertha,  the  same  instant  revealed  and  gone. 

I  ran,  I  leapt,  I  flew,  nor  relaxed  my  speed,  till  I  came 
within  view  of  the  lady's  mansion.  There  I  paused  with 
a  feeling  of  doubt,  wonder,  and  hope. 


CHAPTER  III 


MADNESS   CUBED   AND   LOVE   INCREASED. 


The  clouds  were  now  dispersing  before  the  rays  of  dawn. 
Bertha  had  observed  my  pause  of  indecision.  She  now 
saw  me  hastening  across  a  meadow,  came  out  to  meet  me 
in  a  grove  on  the  right,  and  addressed  and  welcomed  me 
with  the  ingenuousness  of  our  first  meeting.  I  as  ingenu- 
ously repeated  to  her  my  feelings  of  the  past  night,  the 
cause  of  my  abrupt  departure,  and  of  my  consequent  ago- 
nies and  wanderings.  While  a  tear  trembled  in  her  eye, 
and  her  lip  quivered  with  emotion,  she  declared  that  the 
cause  was  ill-founded,  that  I  had  no  rival,  that  Roberto 
was  a  true  friend  to  us  both,  who  occasionally  wiled  away 
a  vacant  hour  at  her  boarding-house,  and  that,  having  re- 
turned from  the  door  below  to  get  his  hat,  he  departed 
immediately  after  myself. 

In  her  eager  self-defence,  she  rested  one  hand  on  my 
arm  ;  the  other  I  clasped  in  mine,  as  she  spoke.  A  tear 
was  on  her  cheek.  How  could  I  help  pressing  her  to  my 
heart,  and  kissing  it  off?  It  was  the  first  time ;  was  it  also 
the  last  ? 

"  My  dearest  love,"  I  breathed,  "  I  now  believe  the 
spirit :  Bertha  is  faithful." 

"  Do  you  remember  La  Roche  ?  "  she  replied,  smiling. 
"  It  was  the  first  English  story  I  ever  read.  With  the 
skeptical  traveller  there  introduced,  I  cannot  but  wish  you 
had  l  never  doubted.'  " 

"  Still,  Bertha,"  I  said  to  her,  "  how  could  I  be  insen- 
sible to  those  glances,  those  sunny  smiles,  and  that  host  of 
whispers  in  the  parlour  ?     I  abhorred  them  all.     The  re- 


201 

fused  hand,  too,  and  the  flying  return  to  Roberto !  what 
could  I  —  what  was  I  obliged  to  think  ? 

"  O  I  was  every  instant  expecting  he  would  go  away 
like  the  rest,"  she  answered  in  distress  and  vexation  ;  "  and 
when  I  returned  to  the  door  below,  believe  me,  I  felt  the 
power  of  your  tenderness  too  vividly  for  any  outward  show. 
I  may  have  done  wrong ;  but  Roberto  had  already  been 
rallying  me,  and  false  shame  made  me  wish  to  avoid  the 
repetition.     Pray  forgive  the  impulse  of  bashfulness." 

"hicas  a  false  shame,"  I  observed,  as  we  wandered 
away,  "  but,  thank  heaven  !  the  heart,  the  heart  was  right, 
and  all  is  well." 

As  this  was  a  very  unseasonable  time  to  enter  the  house, 
it  being  yet  more  than  half  an  hour  to  sunrise,  we  con- 
tinued our  walk  along  the  river,  in  the  sequestered  lawn 
where  Bertha  had  discovered  and  met  me.  Although  I 
still  feared  I  saw  an  air  of  mystery  and  reserve  in  her 
manner,  yet  so  willing  are  we  to  believe  what  we  wish, 
her  explanation  instantly  calmed  the  tempest  of  my  soul. 
Beams  of  bliss  dawned  out  of  chaos  ;  blissful  schemes 
were  busily  formed  ;  moments  winged  their  flight  with  un- 
wonted swiftness.  Visions  of  love,  do  ye  lap  the  soul  in 
Elysium  ? 

As  we  left  the  lawn,  and  entered  a  retired  spot,  called 
the  Almadora  Ravine,  higher  up,  "  what  have  we  here?" 
I  exclaimed,  as  I  took  a  pamphlet  from  the  side  of  a  hol- 
low oak,  the  leaves  somewhat  moistened  by  the  damp  of 
the  night. 

"Ah,  how  careless  I  am!"  she  answered.  "It  is 
Count  Basil.  I  was  reading  it  the  other  morning  as  an 
English  exercise,  soon  after  you  found  me  exploring  the 
mountain,  and  I  left  it  there  by  accident." 

"  Basil,"  I  replied,  "  is  a  noble  drama  :  like  most  of 
the  tragedies  of  its  gifted  author,  it  has  much  fine  delinea- 
tion of  character,  as  well  as  touching  interest.  Victoria 
however,  the  imperial  Victoria,  with  all  her  loveliness,  fails 
to  inspire  me  with  what  we  term  heart-tenderness.  I  should 
find  it  difficult  to  love  a  Victoria.  Fairness  of  mind,  — 
how  inestimable  is  fairness  of  mind  !  " 

"  This  fifth  scene  of  the  fourth  act,"  said  Bertha,  not 
regarding  my  remark,  "  I  thought  very  beautiful.  "  How 


202 

exquisite  are  many  of  the  images  !  the  '  little  downy- 
clouds,'  —  '  the  snowy  clouds,'  —  '  the  veil  tempering 
heaven's  brightness,  of  softest,  purest  white  '  — 

'  As  though  an  angel  in  his  upward  flight 
Had  left  his  mantle  floating  in  mid-air.' 

Here  is  a  passage,"  added  she,  "  which  we  ought  to  read 
together.  Victoria  makes  a  very  innocent  allusion  to  a 
dear  friend,  innocent  and  mischievous  you  may  call  it, 
and  Basil's  misinterpretation  of  it  leads  to  one  of  the  finest 
ebullitions  of  jealousy,  that  I  remember  to  have  read.  Shall 
we  read  it  now  ?     I  begin  with  the  lady. 

Victoria.     We'll  quit  this  spot ; 
I  do  repent  me  that  I  led  thee  here. 
But  'twas  the  favourite  path  of  a  dear  friend  : 
Here,  many  a  time  we  wandered,  arm  in  arm  ; 
We  loved  this  grove,  and  now  that  he  is  absent, 
I  love  to  haunt  it  still.  [Basil  starts,'] 

Basil.     His  favourite  path — a  friend  —  here   arm  in 
arm  — 

[Clasping  his  hands,  and  raising  them  to  his 
head.] 
Then  there  is  such  an  one  ! 

[Drooping  his  head,  and  loolcing  distractedly 
upon  the  ground.] 

I  dreamed  not  of  it. 
Victoria.  [Pretending  not  to  see  him.] 

That  little  lane,  with  woodbine  all  o'ergrown, 
He  loved  so  well  !  —  it  is  a  fragrant  path, 
Is  it  not,  Count  ? 

Basil.  It  is  a  gloomy  one  ! 

Victoria.     I  have,  my  lord,  been  wont  to  think  it 

cheerful. 
Basil.     I  tho't  your  highness  meant  to  leave  this  spot. 
Victoria.     I  do,  and  by  this  lane  we'll  take  our  way  ; 
For  here  he  often  walked  with  sauntering  pace, 
And  listened  to  the  woodlark's  evening  song. 

Basil.      What,  must  I  on  his  very  footsteps  go  1 
Accursed  be  the  ground  on  which  he  trod. 

Victoria.     And  is  Count  Basil  so  uncourtly  grown, 
That  he  would  curse  my  brother  to  my  face  ? 


203 

Basil.     Your   brother  !     Gracious   God  !    is    it   your 
brother  ? 
That  dear,  that  loving  friend  of  whom  you  spoke  ? 
Is  he  indeed  your  brother  ? 

Victoria.  He  is  indeed,  my  lord. 

Basil.     Then  heaven  bless  him  !  all  good  angels  bless 
him  ! 
I  could  weep  o'er  him  now,  shed  blood  for  him ! 
I  could  —  O  what  a  foolish  heart  have  I ! 

[Walks  up  and  down  with  a  hurried  step, 
tossing  about  his  arms  in  transport ;  then 
stops  short,  and  runs  up  to  Victoria.] 
Is  it  indeed  your  brother  ? 

"  Bertha,  I  thank  you  ;  I  thank  you  for  pointing  out 
this  spirited  scene.  It  never  appeared  so  racy,  not  even 
on  the  first  perusal.  Nothing  could  be  more  characteristic 
of  the  two  lovers.  The  anathema,  the  ebullition  of  jealousy, 
seems  to  me  to  be  admirably  true  to  nature." 

"And  how  much  happier  was  the  simple  reality,"  ob- 
served Bertha  with  a  smile,  while  her  dark  eye  filled  with 
emotion,  "  than  poor  Basil  apprehended  !  Do  you  not 
think  it  often  so  ?  And  have  you  not,  even  before  this 
morning,  experienced  it  to  be  true  yourself?" 

"  Without  question,"  I  answered  ;  "  and  may  the  light 
of  hope,  which  has  now  dawned  upon  me,  never  fade. 
When  present  evils  threaten  to  be  more  powerful  than  the 
assurances  of  faith,  when  sounds  the  most  discordant  assail 
us,  may  we  believe  that  the  music  of  a  sweet  voice  is  on 
its  way  to  our  ear. 

"  Allow  me,  Bertha,  if  you  please,"  I  continued,  u  to 
mention  a  trifling  incident,  partly  by  way  of  illustration, 
and  partly  for  its  originality.  It  was  four  nights  ago,  a 
few  hours  only  before  I  first  saw  you.  Our  clocks  were 
just  striking  two,  when  some  very  sweet  sounds,  like  the 
notes  of  a  bird,  entered  my  room.  My  nearest  window, 
fronting  the  water,  was  raised.  I  rose,  went  to  it,  drew 
my  shutters  further  back,  looked  out,  and  listened. 

"  The  moon  was  exceedingly  bright,  and  I  could  not 
forbear  observing?  for  a  moment,  how  beautifully  calm  the 
river  moved  along  in  its  lustre.     While  I  was  tracing  the 


204 

foliage  of  the  further  shore  distinctly  even  down  to  that 
little  island  yonder,  which  was  more  than  half  a  mile  dis- 
tant, I  heard  the  warblings  of  a  thrush,  seemingly  upon 
one  of  the  loftiest  trees.  Her  tones  came  over  the  water, 
and  through  the  still  air,  with  such  supernatural  power  as 
I  never  felt  before.  She  went  through  her  stave  of  inimi- 
tably varied  notes,  and  then  remained  silent  about  a  dozen 
seconds  ;  then  poured  all  her  soul  again  in  melody.  I 
thought  of  Strada's  nightingale.  It  was  partly  the  rich 
scenery  under  the  moon,  partly  the  wood-notes  wild  them- 
selves, and  in  part  the  uncommonness  of  such  sounds  at 
such  an  hour,  that  awoke  my  emotion.  I  listened  about 
ten  minutes.  The  bird  then  ceased  singing.  I  imagine 
she  mistook  the  bright  moonlight  for  the  light  of  morning. 
These  magic  warblings  dwell  upon  my  ear  even  now,  and 
their  influence  is  most  sweet." 

"  I  do  not  wonder  at  their  power,"  replied  my  fair 
friend,  "  for  although  imagination  can  accomplish  much, 
reality,  glorious  reality,  can  accomplish  infinitely  more.  I 
feel  the  magic  of  your  original  incident,  and  welcome  it  as 
a  propitious  omen  ;  and  as  we  seem  to  be  imparting  our 
experiences  this  morning,  let  me  give  you  one  of  yesterday 
forenoon.  My  prism  presented  one  of  the  very  richest 
views,  with  which  a  mortal  was  ever  indulged.  Although 
it  is  impossible  to  impart  any  adequate  conception,  I  must 
attempt  to  say  something. 

"  The  morning,  as  you  may  remember,  St.  Helier,  had 
been  calm,  and  the  river  unruffled.  Sitting  by  one  of  the 
southern  windows  of  my  apartment,  that  faces  the  water, 
and  looking  over  some  of  the  wild  creations  of  Tasso,  I 
could  not  at  times  help  lifting  my  eye  from  the  page,  and 
observing  the  mirrour-like  smoothness  of  the  Almadora, 
and  the  line  of  verdure  bordering  both  the  shores.  They 
reminded  me  of  home. 

"  Suddenly  came  a  violent  gust  from  the  east,  and  in 
less  than  five  minutes  made  the  glassy  surface  as  swelling 
and  billowy,  as  such  a  river  ever  boasted.  Though  the 
sun  shone  in  all  its  splendour  and  glory,  the  prospect  in- 
stantly became  dark  and  angry,  the  summits  of  the  waves 
alone  excepted  :  these  ridges,  breaking,  exhibited  a  living, 
and,  if  I  may  so  speak,  an  impalpable  bead  of  the  snowiest 
foam. 


205 

u  I  took  my  prism  from  the  table,  and  oh  what  a  scene 
appeared  high  in  air!  —  for  I  always  prefer  elevating  the 
scene.  The  waves  were  literally  waves  of  light,  ever 
mingling  and  ever  changing.  The  snowy  foam  gave  the 
view  of  views.  The  light  hovering  violet  for  a  moment 
blended  with  the  opposite  extreme,  red  ;  while  the  five 
intervening  colours  faintly,  though  resolutely,  struggled  for 
a  brief  instant  of  preeminence.  From  every  little  gleam 
streamed  hues  of  sparkling  beauty,  —  some  of  them  trans- 
cendantly  brilliant,  and  others  of  the   softest   loveliness." 

"  Was  it  not  impossible, "  I  asked,  "  to  forget  the  astro- 
nomer's division  of  light  into  its  component  parts,  as  they 
appear  to  us  through  the  prism  of  the  poet's  mind  ?  I  know 
the  passage  is  familiar  to  you.  Allow  me  to  associate  the 
lines  with  your  magnificent  view  of  the  Almadora. 

"  First  the  flaming  Red 
Sprung  vivid  forth  ;  the  tawny  Orange  next; 
And  next  delicious  Yellow  ;  by  whose  side 
Fell  the  kind  beams  of  all-refreshing  Green. 
Then  the  pure  Blue,  that  swells  autumnal  skies, 
Ethereal  played;  and  then,  of  sadder  hue, 
Emerged  the  deepened  Indigo,  as  when 
The  heavy-skirted  evening  droops  with  frost; 
While  the  last  gleamings  of  refracted  light 
Died  in  the  fainting  Violet  away." 

"  I  certainly  did  remember  both  poet  and  astronomer," 
said  she,  "  nor  was  it  they  alone  I  remembered.  How  I 
longed  to  have  you  beside  me  !  How  I  longed  to  hear 
you  exclaim,  '  A  glimpse  of  the  New  Jerusalem  !  its  mys- 
tic wall  and  gates  !  There  you  have  the  colour  of  the 
seraph's  wing  ! '" 

"  Thank  you,  dearest,  for  your  association." 

"  Nay,  St.  Helier,"  she  pursued,  "  I  have  not  done 
yet.  You  would  have  said,  'The  generations  of  men  are 
like  the  waves  of  the  ocean,  following  each  other  in  con- 
tinual succession.'  And  then  you  would  have  added,  '  I 
admire  these  images,  which  connect  even  with  a  common 
sentiment  so  many  things  to  charm.'  —  I  agree  with  you, 
my  dear  friend,  in  all  your  admiration." 

"  Certes,  Bertha,  I  cannot  but  admire  the  facility,"  I 
observed,  "  with  which  you  set  the  minds  of  your  friends 
to  effervescing.  In  truth  it  is  wonderful,  with  what  a  com- 
prehensive glance  of  delight  the  mind  embraces  the  inci- 
18 


206 

dental  circumstances  of  the  illustrating  imagery.  Here, 
in  its  simplest  form,  we  view  the  wave  while  remote,  grad- 
ually advancing.  It  forms  the  curve  line  of  beauty,  forever 
transforming,  forever  transformed,  and  forever  the  same. 
We  see  the  cap  of  foam  whitening  and  cresting  the  surface, 
still  preceded  and  still  pursued,  till  the  wave  breaks  upon 
the  beach,  and  scatters  along  the  sunny  sand  exquisite 
fragments  of  the  rainbow.  It  is  no  more.  But  what 
myriads  have  begun  the  same  voyage,  and  are  to  meet  the 
same  changes  of  fate  !  " 

"  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  St.  Helier,"  Bertha  added,  "that 
amid  the  glorious  manifestation,  that  flood  of  combating 
colours,  a  new  light  skiff,  with  one  sail  perfectly  white, 
passed  directly  up,  and  vanished  beneath  the  arch  of  the 
bridge,  while  I  was  viewing  the  scene  in  almost  unbreathing 
rapture.  I  thought  of  Thalaba's  little  boat,  which  your 
favourite  compares  to  a  '  seabird  breasting  the  broad  wave,' 
and  <  heaving  on  the  heavier  swell.'  " 

"  One  of  my  favourites,  if  you  please." 

"  The  first  love  certainly,  and  perhaps  the  last." 

"  The  last,  Bertha  I  " 

Thus  passed  the  morning  twilight.  The  sun  was  now 
rising.  Bertha  remarking  that  this  was  her  birthday,  gave 
me  an  invitation  to  a  dance  in  the  evening.  Need  I  repeat 
my  answer  ?  I  told  her  what  recluse,  unenlivened  years 
my  six  last  had  been,  and  that  I  now  looked  forward  to 
many  of  a  livelier  aspect.  She  blushed,  and  hoped  the 
same.  We  parted  after  a  long,  delightful,  uninterrupted 
interchange  of  joy.  With  Hamlet  I  exclaimed,  as  I  re- 
turned home  :  "  *  I'll  take  the  spirit's  word  for  a  thousand 
pounds  ;'  Bertha,  is  faithful." 

Such  are  the  moments,  which,  by  the  munificence  of 
Heaven,  are  permitted  to  illuminate  the  gloom  of  life.  Would 
you  know  their  colour  ?  Go  view  the  moving,  melting, 
transforming  foam  of  a  prismatic  wave.  —  Happy  are  they, 
to  whom  in  the  allotment  of  life  many  such  moments  are 
apportioned,  and  who  are  capable  of  estimating  their  value  : 
the  Divinity  has  smiled  upon  them  in  love. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  LADY'S  WELCOME  AND  THE  MAD  LOVER'S 

FAREWELL. 


At  the  close  of  my  last  chapter,  I  made  allusion  to  the 
interviews  of  lovers ;  and  I  remarked,  that,  by  the  kindness 
of  Heaven,  they  are  permitted  to  brighten  the  gloom  of 
life.  We  may  say  of  them,  what  has  been  so  beautifully 
said  of  smiles,  they 

"  are  light  —  the  light  of  soul, 

Light  of  many  tints  combined." 

Whenever  these  beams  illumine  our  wTay,  the  wings  of  Time 
waft  us  with  unimagined  swiftness  ;  but  when  wafting  us 
toward  the  ecstasy  of  some  luminous  moment,  with  what 
slow  and  weary  effort  they  move  ! 

I  went  to  see  Bertha  in  the  afternoon,  for  impatience 
prevented  my  waiting  till  night.  Did  my  feet  convey  me 
thitherward  without  any  intimation  from  my  will  ?  I  found 
her  with  a  merry  cluster  of  girls,  who  -were  amusing  them- 
selves in  a  swinging  machine.  She  welcomed  me  with  a 
shade  of  reserve,  the  death-chill  of  becoming  formality, 
while  she  strove  at  the  same  time  to  appear  more  gratified 
than  common,  though  to  the  lynx-eye  of  a  lover  all  was 
evidently  not  right.  Had  false  shame  or  maiden  modesty 
come  again  ?  Nothing  of  these  was  visible  in  the  cool 
reception  she  gave  me,  —  in  the  lifeless  hand  I  pressed  in 
mine,  in  her  averted  eye  and  embarrassed  air,  or  in  the 
tones  of  her  voice  so  perfectly  without  heart  and  soul. 
The  willow-grove  farewell  was  no  more  ;  the  pale-green 
meadow,  the  grove  of  the  Almadora,  the  Ravine,  were 


208 

forgotten  ;  the  prismatic  foam,  and  the  bird-warbling  from 
the  island,  —  all,  all  were  unreinembered.  O  what  is  the 
female  mind  !  Spoke  not  the  god  of  eloquence  well  ?  that 
a  thing,  forever  changeful  and  mutable,  is  woman  ? 

She  politely  invited  me  to  stay  at  tea,  but  I,  as  politely 
refusing  to  accept  her  civility,  went  home,  and  returned 
some  time  after  sunset.  We  danced  reels,  sixes,  and  co- 
tillons. Though  caring  little  for  either  minuets  or  waltzes, 
I  regretted  the  omission  of  my  favourite  contra  dances. 
Bertha  averred  that  she  never  danced,  and  consequently 
resisted  my  every  attempt  to  persuade  her  to  dance  with 
me  ;  all  my  importunity  was  of  no  avail  ;  but  near  the 
close  of  the  evening  she  danced  with  Roberto,  unsolicited. 
It  seemed  to  be  a  manoeuvre,  which  they  had  both  pre- 
meditated. That  was  a  finishing  stroke,  a  deep  wound. 
I  witnessed  her  coldness  with  silent  sorrow,  the  change  in 
her  affections  with  imbittered  anguish  ;  for  her  loveliness 
of  person  and  mind  had  from  the  first  intwined  itself  with 
the  fibres  of  my  heart.  Having,  from  the  very  moment 
of  our  meeting  on  the  mountain,  ever  treated  her  with 
great  delicacy  and  respect,  even  with  affectionate  partial- 
ity ;  and,  notwithstanding  my  misapprehension  of  the  pre- 
ceding night,  if  such  it  were,  having  received  from  her 
many  evidences  equally  unequivocal  of  her  tenderness  and 
truth  I  could  not  account  for  her  inconsistencies.  Did 
she  belong  to  that  strange  class  of  characters,  whose  love 
is  said  to  be  formed  and  perfected  by  severe  unkindness  ? 
With  such  affection  I  neither  have  nor  wish  to  have  the 
smallest  sympathy.  Had  some  infernal  busy-body  inter- 
meddled ?  Was  Roberto,  or  Bertha,  or  both  the  cause  of 
this  alienation  ?  — However  this  might  be,  I  felt  that  Ber- 
tha was  false,  and  as  false  I  determined  to  treat  her. 
If  my  madness  was  not  cured,  I  would  strive  at  least  to 
restore  and  exemplify  the  wisdom  of  a  sound  mind. 

The  company  departed  at  eleven.  All  went  away  as 
before,  but  the  accursed  Roberto.  I  waited  not  his  move- 
ment, but  bidding  them  '  good  night,'  —  if  those  simple 
words  may  be  so  called,  when  uttered  in  tones  of  hatred 
and  scorn,  —  rushed  home,  flung  myself  upon  my  bed, 
rolled,  and  tossed  in  bitterness  of  heart.  O  for  the  relief, 
the  heaven  of  a  single  tear!  —  The  fountain  of  my  eyes 


209 

was  dried  up.  My  throat  was  choked  with  passion.  I 
meditated  an  everlasting  estrangement.  No  more  would  I 
see  her,  —  no  more  should  the  perfidious  coquette  sport 
with  my  misery.  I  would  tear  her  from  my  heart,  though 
my  life-blood  followed  the  effort.  I  would  re-assume  my- 
self, whom, —  since  meeting  this  false-hearted  stranger, 
this  angel  of  Paradise  now  a  vision  of  Death,  — I  seemed 
to  have  completely  changed.  My  maxim,  I  was  resolved, 
should  be  nothing  less  than  Heart  for  Heart.  God 
forbid  that  I  should  solicit  the  love  even  of  the  worthiest, 
much  less  of  the  most  faithless  and  worthless  of  her  sex. 
— '  Solicit  ?  '  Perish  all  surmise  of  an  impulse  so  low  ! 
—  I  was  truehearted  myself;  I  had  given  the  false  one 
my  all,  the  very  essence  of  my  being,  in  exchange  for  her 
affection  ;  and  now,  when  my  truth  and  tenderness  were 
despised,  should  I  stoop  to  solicit  the  bestowal  of  that 
heart,  which  I  had  believed  to  have  been  granted  as  freely 
as  my  own  ?     Never,  never.  — 

While  forming  these  wise  resolves,  and,  —  with  sorrow 
and  shame  be  it  recorded,  —  as  frequently  dismissing  them, 
I  drew  my  writing-stand  to  the  window.  Then  mastering 
the  strong  delusion,  that  was  coiling  its  folds  of  fascination 
around  me,  I  wrote  by  the  light  of  the  full  moon  these 
farewell  lines  : 

To  the  Lady  of  the  Mountain. 

Bertha,  you  have  cruelly  deceived  an  honest  heart, 
whose  dearest  pleasure  was  in  seeing  you  happy.  That 
heart,  however,  although  it  has  been  cruelly  deceived, 
shall  never  curse  the  deceiver,  but  unceasingly  pray  for 
her  prosperity. 

What  visions  of  earth  and  heaven  have  hope,  faith, 
and  love  awakened !  I  have  said  with  a  German  poet  : 
"  There  shall  be  one  temple  where  we  kneel,  one  region 
toward  which  we  move,  one  happiness  for  which  we  glow, 
one  heaven  for  you  and  me."  With  your  own  Strozzi  I 
have  exclaimed:  "My  Bertha,  sweet  Bertha,  O  music 
forever  new  and  more  and  more  exquisite  !  What  sweet- 
ness I  experience  in  only  saying  Bertha  !  I  seek,  but,  if 
I  may  believe  the  breathing  from  within,  neither  on  earth 
18* 


210 

nor  in  heaven  do  I  find  a  harmony,  that  can  be  sweeter 
than  her  beautiful  name  :  Heaven,  Love,  and  the  Echo  of 
my  heart  repeat  no  other." 

I  have  sometimes  murmured  in  my  haste:  "The  world 
is  full  of  demons."  But  when  these  demons  pour  upon  us 
the  shadows  of  midnight,  and  strive  to  envelope  us  in  total 
darkness,  then  a  faithful  friend  becomes  a  star  of 
comfort.  Dark  unillumined  night  is  cheerless  and  unlove- 
ly, but  only  one  little  luminary,  trembling  through  the 
gloom,  sends  a  beam  of  peace  into  the  bosom  of  the  trav- 
eller, and  makes  him  hope  for  unclouded  skies. 

Yes,  how  often  have  I  said!  We  may  illumine  this 
dim  speck  of  existence  by  our  mutual  affection.  Though 
doomed  to  be  separated  half  a  world,  the  thought  that 
there  lives  a  heart  that  exclusively  loves  us,  that  is  perhaps 
more  interested  in  our  welfare  than  in  its  own,  that  muses 
upon  us  till  tears  of  tenderness  gush,  and  that  even  in  the 
hour  of  expiring  nature,  when  all  other  things  fade  from 
view,  would  beat  a  last  farewell,  as  it  winged  its  way  to 
its  God,  — these  thoughts  have  filled  my  soul,  and  awaken- 
ed my  holiest  enthusiasm.  But  I  no  longer  breathe,  what 
my  heart  was  most  prompt  to  breathe  this  morning, —  this 
morning  after  our  walk  by  the  Almadora,  —  that  our  wreath 
of  love  was  woven  in  heaven, 

u  With  sparkling  stars  for  flowers." 

No  :  I  find  you  false  and  unfaithful,  and  not  that  loyal 
perfection  of  woman  I  thought  you.  With  your  own  hand, 
your  own  rash  hand,  you  have  snapped  the  wreath,  and  I 
scatter  the  star-flowers  to  the  winds.  But  do  not  imagine, 
that,  because  I  have  found  you  heartless  and  disloyal,  I 
have  lost  all  confidence  in  woman.  My  confidence  re- 
mains unimpaired.  I  once  dreamed,  —  it  was  a  fond  de- 
lusion,—  that  Bertha,  the  stranger  from  Italy,  must  be  the 
sister  of  Alberto  Gherardi  from  Palermo  ;  but  that  misery, 
thanks  be  to  God,  is  an  impossibility.  No  such  perfidy 
can  I  associate  with  the  name  and  the  blood  of  the  Gher- 
ardis.  The  sister  of  my  dear  departed  Alberto,  —  how  I 
languish  for  her  arrival!  —  But  you,  you  and  your  spirit 
messenger,  I  have  proved  to  be  false,  and  I  spurn  the 
glozings  of  you  both. 


211 

And  now  farewell.  The  cold  moon  is  smiling  upon  me 
from  heaven,  a  fit  emblem  of  yourself,  .  .  .  changeful  as 
fair.  I  shall  often  remember  the  rock,  the  uprooted  oak, 
the  willow  grove,  the  twilight  meadow,  the  lawn,  the 
Almadora  Ravine,  the  momentary  gleam  of  the  prismatic 
foam,  and  weep  —  bitterly  weep  for  the  capricious  Bertha, 
—  that  Bertha,  whom  so  late  as  this  morning  I  numbered 
among  the  true-hearted  maidens  of  the  Almadora. 
Adieu  forever.  St.  Helier* 


CHAPTER  V 


WHO  THE  LADY'S    ARIEL  AND  THE  LOVER'S  DOMDA2STIELITE 
WERE,  AND  WHAT  BECAME  OF  THEM  ALL. 


Scarcely  had  I  written  and  folded  the  farewell  lines  of 
the  preceding  chapter,  when  my  little  messenger  of  love 
reappeared  in  his  former  lustre,  and  thus  briefly  accosted 
me  : 

"  I  will  now  carry  to  my  mistress  your  billet  of  love. 
Why  were  you  so  abrupt  in  leaving  her  ?  She  is  weeping 
alone,  and  in  deep  distress." 

"  My  billet  of  love !  I  inwardly  groaned,  as  his  words 
struck  on  my  soul.  "In  deep  distress,  is  she?"  I  con- 
tinued with  bitter  scorn.  "  Weeping  alone  too !  I  saw 
nothing  of  tears.  She  seemed  to  be  most  happy  with  her 
black  minion,  her  demon  lover.  Where  is  that  favoured 
rival?  Does  not  Roberto  remain  to  comfort  the  maiden 
all  forlorn  ? " 

But  I  repressed  all  emotion,  and,  conceiving  the  earliest 
moment  to  be  the  best,  gave  him  the  farewell  I  had  just 
written.  Near  four  days  had  now  passed,  and  two  of  those 
in  absence,  since  my  love  adventure  commenced;  I  had 
gone  through  extreme  variations  of  feeling;  and  my  "seeth- 
ing brain  "  was  perfectly  aweary  of  them.  I  was  glad  to 
make  my  escape,  and  be  once  more  at  peace. 

The  seeming  page  received  my  note,  and,  without  ask- 
ing my  permission,  ran  his  eye  over  it ;  he  then  looked  up, 
and  smiled  upon  me  with  unspeakable  benignity.  On  a 
sudden  his  diminutive  form  became  dilated  to  the  size  of  a 
man,  and  at  the  same  moment  assumed  such  commanding 
beauty,  such  majestic  mildness,  as  made  me  long,  yet  fear, 


213 

to  look  upon  him.  The  rustling  of  his  starry  robe  impress- 
ed me  with  awe,  as  with  a  dignified  smile,  and  the  same 
thrilling  voice  as  at  the  night-scene  of  the  sea-shore,  he 
exclaimed  : 

"  Bertha  is  faithful  !  — She  is  no  heartless  deceiver. 
Attend  to  the  warning  voice  of  a  brother.  You  are  going 
on  in  a  course,  that  will  afford  you  no  real  enjoyment ;  and 
what  is  still  more  deplorable,  it  must  end  in  misery  to 
yourself  and  to  all  that  you  love. 

"  Would  you,  St.  Helier,  would  you  dare  hope  to  be 
happy  ?  Learn  to  acquire  internal  as  well  as  external 
self-government.  Let  a  meeker,  a  milder,  a  holier  princi- 
ple take  possession  of  that  stormy  spirit.  Let  your  motive 
be  adequate,  before  you  dare  act  the  madman,  —  crushing 
the  globe,  or  making  a  ruin  of  creation.  Because  disap- 
pointed of  some  scheme  of  bliss,  which  the  magic  of 
idolized  enthusiam  has  unfolded  to  your  view,  must  you 
flame  in  wrath,  fury,  distraction  ?  It  was  pitiable  to  be- 
hold you. 

"  Now  view  the  unfolding  mystery.  That  maiden 
whom  you  met  and  admired  on  May-morning,  and  to  pro- 
mote whose  well-being  I  have  been  permitted  to  leave 
the  mansions  of  heaven,  was  conditionally  destined  to  be 
yours.  That  gem,  that  gem  of  inestimable  value,  was 
not  destined  for  the  unworthy.  You  have  therefore, 
without  losing  your  own  freedom  of  action,  been  under 
the  influence  of  a  power,  that  you  neither  knew  nor 
suspected.  Roberto  you  imagined  to  be  your  enemy, 
your  evil  genius;  or,  as  you  were  pleased  to  call  him,  a 
fiend,  an  insidious,  dark-looking  Domdanielite.  Have  I 
not  read  the  language  of  your  heart  ?  1  was  Roberto  my- 
self. In  his  person,  I  have  framed  your  perplexities  and 
your  frustration  of  hope.  I  have  awakened  also  images 
of  beauty  and  bliss.  I  have  diffused  through  your  soul 
the  soft  influences  of  love,  the  lambent  flame  of  domestic 
joy.  Still,  like  all  men,  you  have  been  left  master  of 
your  own  destiny." 

"  Thus  have  I  woven  the  tissue  of  your  trial ;  thus  have 
I  weighed  you  in  the  balance  ;  and  though  far  from  being 
unexceptionable,  your  behaviour  has  not  been  entirely 
disapproved  :  the  frailty  and  imperfection  of  human  nature, 


214 

when  combating  with  such  causes  of  violence  and  exas- 
peration, have  contributed  to  form  the  decision  in  your  fa- 
vour. But  this  remember:  Had  you  so  far  overcome 
the  intimations  of  your  better  judgment,  as  to  have  moved 
a  finger  against  your  imagined  rival,  the  cup  of  promise 
would  have  eluded  your  lips  forever. 

"  Are  you  still  in  mystery  ?  . . .  .  Know  then,  that  your 
interview  on  the  mountain,  your  hopes  and  ecstasies,  your 
disappointment  and  fury,  your  midnight  wandering  to  the  sea- 
beach,  your  walk  by  the  river  and  in  the  Almadora  Ravine, 
with  your  fierce  indignation  at  the  supposed  perfidy  of  Ber- 
tha,—  all  have  been  effected  by  the  influence  of  supernatural 
power :  of  the  whole  series  of  events  and  adventures, 
from  beginning  to  end,  I  have  been  the  spiritual  mover 
and  accomplisher. 

"  I  see  your  wonder,  St.  Helier,  but  be  patient.  One 
thing  at  least  is  no  illusion.  You  have  been  this  night 
allowed,  as  in  a  trance,  to  gather  something  of  that  wisdom 
of  experience,  which  is  formed  to  promote  the  perfection 
of  domestic  life.  Rouse  yourself  from  bewilderment.  Is 
not  this  your  wedding  day  ?  Have  you  not,  long  since, 
wooed  and  won  the  lady  of  your  heart?  Has  not  your 
spirit  been  with  her  spirit  this  long  winter  night  ?  Have 
you  loved  her  so  tenderly,  bidden  her  adieu  with  such  in- 
dignant scorn,  and  yet  failed  to  know  her,  —  failed  to 
recognize  her  twin-sister  resemblance  ?  Have  you  been 
so  dull  as  not  to  perceive,  that  your  Italian  lady  of  the 
mountain,  and  your  betrothed  of  Palermo,  were  one  and 
the  same  ? 

'  T'  was  a  good  dulness ; 
You  gave  itVway;  I  know  you  could  not  choose.' 

This  lady  is  faithful,  —  I  must  be  allowed  to  repeat  the 
good  word,  —  this  lady,  notwithstanding  your  sarcasm 
upon  the  female  mind,  is  faithful,  truehearted  as  truth 
itself;  she  has  been  wholly  unconscious  of  evil;  and  this 
day,  before  you  can  either  of  you  be  unfaithful  even  in  a 
dream,  she  is  to  be  all  your  own.  Cherish  her  lovingly, 
because  you  love  her  ;  cherish  her  lovingly  for  her  own 
worth ;  O  you  will  lovingly  cherish  the  sister  of  him,  who 
sat  down  by  the  waters  of  the  Almadora,  sat  down  and 
wept,  —  the  beloved  sister  of  your  Alberto." 


215 

I  knew,  I  sprang  to  embrace,  my  departed  friend,  my 
dear  playmate  of  Ox-Common  and  Great  Pond,  Wood- 
Hill  and  Birch  Swamp;  but  he  was  gone,  —  the  strong 
eagerness  of  the  heart  broke  my  reveries,  ....  restored 
me  to  the  realities  of  day. 

Was  all  a  dream  ?  Was  it  supernatural  ?  Or  was  it 
not  rather  a  hovering  between  the  two  ? 

The  sun  of  the  new  year  had  already  risen,  and  darted 
his  radiance  through  the  five  stars  of  my  window-shutters. 
Instead  of  the  verdure,  the  blossoms,  the  bird-warblings 
of  Spring,  appeared  the  ravages  and  desolations  of  Win- 
ter. Instead  of  waves  flowing  in  prismatic  glory,  the 
Almadora  was  solid,  and  silent,  and  colourless  as  crystal. 
I  mused  deeply  all  the  morning  on  the  strange  shapings  of 
fancy,  —  so  I  called  them,  —  and  was  sometimes  affected 
even  to  tears  at  the  remembrance.  But  for  these  anomalies 
of  the  dreaming  mind,  these  wanderings  of  imagination, 
I  presume  not  to  account ;  "  whether,"  to  quote  the  sug- 
gestions of  a  poet, 

"  Whether  that  superiour  powers, 

By  wise  permission,  prompt  the  midnight  dream, 
Instructing  best  the  passive  faculty  ; 
Or  that  the  soul,  escaped  its  fleshly  clog, 
Flies  free,  and  soars  amid  the  invisible  world, 
And  all  things  are  that  seem." 

With  these  mysteries  of  metaphysics  I  need  not,  and  do 
not,  intermeddle.  For  my  present  purpose  it  will  be  suf- 
ficient to  observe,  that  the  reader  must  suppose  the  fortunes 
and  fates  of  the  Gherardis  to  be  both  real  and  fresh  in 
remembrance,  exactly  as  I  detailed  them  in  my  dream  ;  that 
the  arrival  of  a  lady  from  Palermo  a  year  before,  an  orphan 
of  the  same  name,  and  under  many  circumstances  of  affect- 
ing interest,  although  bearing  but  a  shadowy  resemblance 
to  those  my  friend  recounted  of  his  sister,  had  very  strongly 
impressed  me  ;  that  the  preceding  May-day,  four  months 
after  her  coming  to  this  country,  she  had  consented  to 
unite  her  fortunes  with  mine  on  the  next  anniversary  of  the 
new  year ;  and  that  the  dream-lady,  and  the  real  lady  of 
my  affections,  had  somehow  become  strangely  blended  in 
my  slumber,  —  another  and  the  same. 

It  is  singular  enough,  that  although  the  names  of  both 
were  Bertha,  and  that  during  the  past  summer  I  had  fre- 


216 

quently  accompanied  the  true  Bertha  to  the  graves  in  the 
mountain  valley,  and  dwelt  as  often  upon  the  story  of  the 
Sicilian  strangers,  I  never  once  for  a  moment  remembered 
her  in  my  busy  slumber  from  first  to  last.  But  however 
singular  the  fact  may  appear,  and  however  ductile  my  fancy 
and  affections  may  be  deemed,  such  disloyalty  I  believe  to 
be  the  very  perfection  of  etiquette  in  the  Court  of  Dreams. 
At  any  rate,  so  far  from  explaining  the  inconsistency,  T 
must  leave  it  with  the  simple  assertion  of  its  truth. 

More  than  once,  it  is  true,  I  have  been  half  disposed  to 
embrace  the  supernatural  view  of  the  subject,  and  to  believe 
my  beloved  in  very  deed  the  sister  of  Alberto,  —  as  he 
said,  —  the  dream-lady  herself.  It  is  a  delightful  super- 
stition, if  nothing  more.  But  my  heart  assures  me,  that 
it  is  something  more,  and  that  the  spirit  of  the  brother  had 
a  powerful  motive  for  his  kindness.  Bertha  has  repeatedly 
informed  me,  that  so  peculiar  were  the  circumstances  of 
her  infancy,  she  never  knew  her  parents,  —  never  could 
ascertain  even  who  they  were.  She  had  been  educated 
by  a  noble  lady  of  Palermo,  who  had  been  to  her  more 
than  a  mother,  who  had  cherished  her  as  a  daughter  to  the 
close  of  life,  and  who,  on  her  removal  at  the  advanced  age 
of  eighty-five,  bequeathed  her  almost  her  whole  fortune. 

So  grateful,  therefore,  is  this  revelation  of  the  night  to 
us  both,  it  may  be,  even  "  dearer  for  the  mystery,"  that, 
visionary  as  it  may  seem,  we  cannot  but  welcome  it  as 
something  more  than  delusion.  The  topic  is  almost  too 
serious  for  pleasantry  ;  and  just  now,  when  I  smilingly  re- 
minded Bertha  of  her  tricksy  unfaithfulness,  so  far  from 
denying  the  charge,  she  too  with  a  smile,  a  grave  smile,  in- 
deed, bade  me  keep  a  sharp  look  out  for  my  amiable  Dom- 
danielite,  Roberto,  —  archly  adding,  "What  has  been 
once,  St.  Helier,  may  be  again  ! " 

Unable  to  employ  my  mind  upon  any  other  theme,  I 
occupied  the  remainder  .of  the  forenoon  in  composing  a 
regular  detail  of  the  particulars,  before  they  faded  forever 
from  the  memory.  I  then  presented  the  manuscript  to  the 
true  and  only  Bertha  Gherardi,  and  this  was  the  last  day 
she  was  called  by  that  name  ;  for  in  the  evening,  as  Al- 
berto had  promised  me,  she  became 

"  My  bright  and  beauteous  bride." 


THE  FORTIETH  HOUR. 


CHAPTER  I. 


WHO  SLEEPS  WITH  A  DEMON  AT  HIS  EAR,  AND  WHO 
WAKE  HIM, 


Do  you  love  the  wanderings  of  the  unfettered  mind  ? 
Or  have  you,  in  the  bitterness  of  disappointed  hope,  dis- 
trusted the  wisdom  of  Heaven  ?  Come  to  the  banks  of 
the  Almadora :  come,  speed  on  wings  of  wind,  to  the 
views  and  events  that  await  you.     And  are  you  come  ? 

It  is  the  deep  of  night ;  the  winds  are  wild  ;  a  summer 
shower  beats  heavily  on  the  mansion  of  Muzoil.  What 
form  do  you  behold,  standing  at  the  door  of  his  dwelling  ? 
Is  it  a  Spirit,  viewing  the  waters,  the  woods,  the  dead  waste 
of  night,  the  clouds  illumined  by  lightning  ?  Listen  to  his 
voice. 

Guardian  Spirit.  How  sublime  is  darkness  !  What 
a  sweep  was  there  !  I  love  these  sights  and  these  sounds. 
There  is  something  in  them  unspeakably  majestic.  I  love 
to  look  abroad,  when  to  the  human  eye  scarcely  an  object 
is  distinguishable :  I  love  to  pass  through  this  pavilion  of 
the  Almighty,  and  never  am  I  more  sensible  of  his  imme- 
diate presence. 

Nor  are  softer  views  undelightful  ;  —  the  moonlight 
evenings  of  summer,  the  features  of  nature  veiled  in  partial 
obscurity,  the  light  fleecy  vapour  curling  along  the  Alma- 
dora, the  mingled  voices  of  midnight,  the  music  of  my 
little  winged  friend  that  soothes  the  ear  of  melancholy, 
19 


218 

the  fresh  breeze  among  the  elm   and  poplar  boughs,  the 
low  murmur  that  comes  from  the  river,  .... 

Spirit  of  the  Almadora,  (coming  up  from  the  wa- 
ter.) And  do  you,  brother  Spirit,  admire  the  summer 
ripplings  along  my  shore,  and  the  low  music  of  my  waves  ? 
Thanks  for  the  compliment Your  charge  reposes  ? 

Guardian  Spirit.  He  slumbers,  but  the  balmy  influ- 
ence of  rest  will  not  visit  him.  His  day-dreams  he  once 
thought  his  best  enjoyment,  but  they  are  now  full  of 
anguish  ;  his  night-visions  were  once  illumined  by  light 
from  heaven,  but  they  are  now  darkened  with  gloom  and 
disquietude.  Sad  and  weary  he  retires  ;  he  is  full  of  toss- 
ing until  the  day-spring ;  and  he  rises  unrefreshed.  He 
has  just  closed  his  eyelids  in  oblivion. 

Spirit  of  the  Almadora.  What  may  this  mean  ? 
Whenever  he  has  bathed  in  my  pure  stream,  I  have  per- 
ceived by  his  countenance,  that  although  a  shade  of  pen- 
siveness  may  be  mingled  with  the  colouring  of  his  mind, 
he  is  of  a  temperament  not  far  removed  from  sober 
cheerfulness. 

Guardian  Spirit.  You  judge  with  your  wonted  pen- 
etration. Tempered  mirth  appears  to  be  most  congenial 
to  his  disposition  ;  but  so  volatile  are  his  spirits,  when 
diverted  from  their  usual  calmness,  that  they  immediately 
rush  toward  extremes,  the  extremes  of  hope  or  of  dejection 
and  despair. 

Spirit  of  the  Almadora.  That  is  contrary  to  the 
wisdom  of  God  and  man, — even  bordering  on  folly.  He 
needs  the  chastenings  of  severe  experience.  The  germ  of 
heavenly  fortitude  must  be  made  to  flourish.  A  few  such 
tempers  I  have  known ;  and  I  have  remarked,  that  they 
are  formed  to  be  very  happy  or  very  miserable.  They 
seem  almost  unfitted  for  the  realities  of  earthly  affairs. 
It  is  the  will  of  Him,  who  disposes  all  things  in  wisdom. 

Guardian  Spirit.  Such  a  being  you  now  see  slum- 
bering before  you.     You  observe  his  agitation? 

Spirit  of  the  Almadora.  Assuredly,  —  on  his  couch. 
No  wall  or  curtain,  you  are  sensible,  can  intercept  the 
vision  of  spirits.  But,  my  brother,  what  has  tinged  his 
soul  with  the  gall  of  bitterness  ?  I  am  much  interested  in 
his  welfare. 


219 

Guardian  Spirit.  Are  you  ?  May  the  Eternal  smile 
upon  you  !  This  Father  of  spirits  and  men  viewed  the 
features  of  his  soul,  and  saw  that  they  were  not  right.  In 
mercy  he  commissioned  the  Angel  of  his  Will,  who  re- 
moved from  him,  one  after  another,  all  he  most  loved  and 
cherished  on  earth,  and  left  him  at  last  in  utter  loneliness. 
If  he  needed  the  chastenings  of  severe  experience,  he  has 
certainly  had  them.  And  now,  when  he  views  his  fate  in 
the  glass  of  reflection,  he  passionately  wishes  that  God 
would  take  him  also  to  himself.  He  longs,  yet  shudders, 
to  lift  the  awful  veil  ;  but  those  mysteries  he  feels  to  be 
wisely,  most  wisely  concealed  from  the  eye  of .  .  .  .  Ha  ! 
do  you  see  that  Form  standing  by  the  couch  of  Muzoil, 
and  staring  him  in  the  face !  What  words  is  he  breathing 
in  his  ear?  .... 

Voice  of  the  Demon.  Thou  wast  not  born  for  bliss. 
Forbear,  thou  ill-starred  wretch,  forbear  to  anticipate 
bright  visions  of  joy.  Thou  wilt  "  drop  from  existence 
like  a  withered  leaf,  unseen  and  unregarded.  God  hath 
abandoned  thee."  In  wretchedness  thou  earnest  into  be- 
ing, in  wretchedness  art  thou  to  journey  on,  in  wretched- 
ness art  thou  to  die.  Think  of  this,  thou  withered  leaf, 
and  forbear  to  indulge  in  those  dreams  of  bliss,  which  thou 
art  never,  never  to  realize. 

Guardian  Spirit.  What  Fiend  art  thou,  that  intrud- 
est  upon  our  retirement  !  Fly,  fly,  thou  imp  of  darkness ; 
show  thy  hateful  visage  no  moie:  or  feel  the  force  of 
heavenly  displeasure. 

Spirit  of  the  Almadora.  Do  you  know  that  terrific 
shape  ? 

Guardian  Spirit.  An  evil  demon,  as  I  imagine,  in- 
tent on  purposes  of  malice. 

Spirit  of  the  Almadora.  Evil  he  certainly  is,  and 
intent  on  purposes  of  malice,  but  not  a  demon  from  the 
region  of  lost  spirits:  he  is  the  man-demon,  Logoul,  com- 
panion of  the  old  magician,  whose  place  of  abode  I  once 
mentioned  to  you.  That  magician,  as  I  then  said,  is  not 
wholly  depraved  ;  I  cherish  much  hope  of  his  conversion 
from  evil ;  but  Logoul  seems  to  have  eradicated  every 
human  feeling.  He  will  venture  into  our  presence  no 
more. 


220 

Guardian  Spirit.  And  our  slumbering  friend  shall 
lose  nothing  by  this  venomous  attempt  to  augment  his 
misery. 

Spirit  of  the  Almadora.  No,  by  the  divinity  of  the 
ocean  !  He  came  into  being  upon  my  banks,  —  there  are 
none  more  lovely  that  embellish  the  rivers  of  the  north, — 
and  he  ought  not  to  be  unworthy  of  his  native  soil.  That 
Hell-doomed  has  deckled  mein  his  favour.  Shall  magi- 
cians and  demons  of  malice  infuse  their  venom,  and  shall 
no  spirits  of  health  be  found  to  soothe  and  to  save  ?  For- 
bid it,  Heaven.  Let  us  befriend  him  :  A  secret  impulse 
inspires  me. 

Guardian  Spirit.  Lo  !  the  shower  is  passing  off,  and 
a  soothing  calm  begins  to  pervade  the  scene.  Ah  !  do  you 
see  that  little  star  through  the  opening  cloud  ?  and  do  you 
read  its  meaning? 

Spirit  of  the  Almadora.  Yes,  I  do  read  its  mean- 
ing of  benevolence.  Heaven  permits  and  commands  us  to 
teach  him  wisdom,  and  with  the  tenderness  of  the  heart. — 
Tremble,  magician  !  tremble,  Logoul  ! 

Guardian  Spirit.  Let  us  this  moment  begin  the  good 
work.  Shall  we  soothe  him  with  our  favourite  air,  Dream- 
ing on  the  Water  ?     Touch  your  instrument  of  power. 

Muzoil,  (awaking  from  a  perturbed  vision.)  Am  I 
in  heaven  ?  Whence  come  these  notes  of  enchantment, 
that  breathe  upon  the  silence  of  night  ?  Who  would  not 
listen  forever  ?  How  calm  after  the  tempest !  It  is  a  pro- 
pitious omen.  Not  a  breath  moves  a  leaf;  the  moon 
gleams  upon  the  smooth  Almadora ;  the  sky  is  blue  and 
starry  ;  the  stars  twinkle  in  the  water.  O  what  freshness 
pervades  my  senses  !     I  could  drink  it  in  forever. 

Voice  of  the  Guardian  Spirit,  (from  above.)  Lis- 
ten !  there  is  something  even  more  heavenly  than  nature. 
You  may  imbibe  the  pure  breath  of  faith,  the  heaven  of 
confidence  in  God,  forever.  Only  submit  to  the  wisdom  of 
the  All-wise,  —  only  with  cheerful  and  holy  confidence 
endure  the  anguish  of  frustrated  hope, — and  such  gifts 
await  you  as  Infinite  Perfection  grants  to  those  it  loves. 
The  moment  draws  near.  Walk  forth  by  the  Almadora  ; 
let  the  calm  of  its  waters  soothe  the  tumult  of  your  soul ; 


221 

let  it  render  you  tranquil  and  resigned ;  and  remember, 
Muzoil,  that  the  Eye  of  Mercy  ever  beams  upon  the  obe- 
dient. Be  comforted.  Rich  blessings  are  in  store  for 
you.  They  appear  when  least  expected.  Walk  forth  and 
bid  them  welcome. 


19* 


CHAPTER  IL 


HOW    MUZOIL    MET    A    FAIR    DAMSEL    BT    THE    ALMADORA, 
AND  WHERE  THEY  WENT. 


As  commanded  by  the  voice  of  the  Invisible,  Muzoil 
wandered  forth,  inhaled  the  breezy  freshness  that  came 
from  the  south,  breathing  from  the  pine  woods  beyond  the 
river,  and  listened  in  a  reverie  to  the  tide  softly  stealing 
onward  to  the  ocean.  The  elements  were  calm.  All 
nature  seemed  hushed  to  repose.  Still  the  form  of 
Logoul,  as  well  as  his  presages  of  malice,  continued  to 
haunt  his  imagination,  while  the  soothings  of  the  Invisible 
were  accounted  the  mockery  of  a  dream.  "I  am  not  only 
bereaved  of  all  most  dear,"  he  groaned,  "  but  some  fiend 
of  hell  is  seeking  my  own  destruction.  My  bodily  eye 
was  closed,  but  I  saw  him,  most  distinctly  I  saw  him." 

There  stood  Muzoil  by  the  Almadora,  and  all  was 
tranquil  but  the  spirit  that  possessed  him.  His  soul  formed 
a  striking  contrast  with  the  calmness  of  earth,  air,  and 
water:  it  was  depressed,  despondent,  and  at  times  wild 
with  alarm. 

Unable  to  feel  in  its  mysterious  power  the  sleeping 
tranquillity  around  him,  and  uninfluenced  by  the  assurances 
that  had  been  just  made  to  him,  he  was  on  the  point  of 
returning  homeward,  languid  and  melancholy.  His  better 
spirit  however  prevailed,  and  he  resolved  to  proceed  as 
far  as  the  Almadora  Ravine,  which  was  one  of  his  usual 
resorts  in  trouble ;  when  lifting  his  eye  toward  the  moon, 
that  looked  tranquilly  from  a  mountain  in  the  west,  as  it 
began  to  verge  toward  the  horizon,  he  saw  something  afar 


223 

off  in  the  intervening  space,  almost  as  if  moving  on  its 
flood  of  beams,  very  small,  and  but  dimly  distinguishable, 
and  it  every  moment  enlarged  as  it  came  near.  Was  it  a 
human  being?  It  descended,  it  came  down  the  declivity, 
it  stood  on  the  bank-turf  beside  him. 

Powers  of  language,  can  ye  describe  the  form  that 
beamed  on  his  view  ?  The  little  moonlight  being,  though 
almost  of  Ariel  slenderness,  was  of  the  perfect  stature  of 
woman.  Her  robe  w7as  of  the  palest  violet, — or  that  hue 
without  a  name  rather,  produced  by  the  union  of  the  light 
of  a  lamp  with  that  of  the  moon.  She  had  a  countenance 
shaded  with  an  air  very  slightly  meditative,  but  the  modest 
reserve  of  its  expression  was  accompanied  with  a  smile  of 
ineffable  beauty.  Was  it  the  expression  of  Heaven  that 
beamed  serenely  there  ?  Did  it  touch  his  heart  with  a 
gleam  of  delight?  Were  all  sorrow  and  languor  forgotten 
in  the  beautiful  object  before  him  ? 

All  these  things  were.  The  moment  she  descended, 
almost  as  if  alighting  like  a  dove,  and  while  she  drew  from 
her  bosom  a  small  vial,  and  rapidly  poured  its  misty 
contents  into  the  air,  such  a  magic  loveliness  effused  itself 
around,  that  nothing  filled  his  conception  but  thought  of 
her.  It  was  wonderful.  Although  her  form  was  lovely, 
though  her  full  eyes  were  dark  and  lustrous,  and  her 
mouth  of  such  sweetness  of  expression,  as  stole  into  the 
heart ;  still  persons  of  a  more  mirthful  mind  would  have 
viewed  her,  —  it  would  be  profanation  to  say  with  indiffer- 
ence,—  but  they  would  have  viewed  her  as  far  less  beau- 
tiful than  Muzoil  did.  Do  we,  indeed,  "  receive  but  what 
we  give  1 " 

Perceiving  his  astonishment,  she  gave  one  of  her  sweet- 
est smiles  at  the  embarrassment  visible  in  his  manner,  and 
with  a  readiness  peculiar  to  her  sex  exclaimed  :  "  If  you 
will  wander  the  banks  of  a  stream  so  attractive,  and  at  the 
very  witching  time  of  night,  you  ought  to  incur  the  incon- 
venience of  a  few  surprises." 

Who  will  dare  picture  the  meaning  of  her  eyes  at  that 
moment?  With  pleasantries  so  innocent,  with  simplicities 
so  artless,  did  she  relieve  his  embarrassment,  that  he  soon 
felt  completely  at  ease  in  her  company.  They  rambled 
amid  those  scenes  of  beauty,  until  they  had  almost  talked 


224 

down  the  moon.  With  the  egotism  of  lovers,  —  so  de- 
lightful to  themselves, —  they  still  wandered  on,  she  dis- 
closing the  wonders  of  the  region  she  had  just  returned 
from  visiting,  and  he  in  his  turn  describing,  as  accurately 
as  he  could,  the  peculiarities  of  his  native  banks;  and  if, 
with  greater  and  greater  frequency,  he  intermingled  a 
sentiment  more  warm  than  suited  a  geographical  description, 
who  shall  blame  him  ?  Seraphina,  it  is  certain,  was  far  from 
viewing  either  his  admiration  or  his  tenderness  as  inexcusa- 
ble. She  knew  herself  to  be  worthy  of  inspiring  affection, 
and  in  the  emotion  of  Muzoil  she  rejoiced  to  discern  the 
genuine  evidence  of  truth.  True,  indeed,  he  most  as- 
suredly was.  Had  he  not  reason  for  being  strongly 
attached  ?  Every  feature  of  her  face,  every  look  she  gave, 
every  gesture  she  made,  every  thought  she  uttered,  every 
image  she  employed  to  enforce  or  illustrate  her  ideas, — 
the  radiant  bloom  of  her  countenance,  the  intellectual  light 
which  shone  through  it,  and  above  all,  the  outbreaking  of 
real,  unaffected  sincerity,  —  these  all  contributed  to  pro- 
duce on  him  a  powerful  effect.  How  he  drank  in  the  truth 
and  loveliness  pervading  her!  It  was  indeed  a  "fair 
encounter  of  two  most  rare  affections."  —  What  will  be 
their  issue  ? 

Just  as  they  ascended  the  summit  of  the  highest  emi- 
nence upon  the  bank,  with  the  exception  of  the  mountain 
in  the  wrest,  they  stopped  somewhat  fatigued,  and  his  fair 
companion  leaning  more  heavily  upon  his  arm,  which  made 
his  bosom  heave  with  an  ecstasy  not  to  be  imagined,  thus 
pursued  : 

"  I  have  been  gratified  with  your  plain,  unembellish- 
ed  description  of  the  scenes  of  your  home,  although  you 
will  find  I  have  enjoyed  opportunities  of  surveying  their 
varieties,  inferior  to  few.  My  father  is  from  the  country 
of  magicians,  and  is  himself  one  of  their  number.  After 
considering  the  attractions  and  disadvantages  of  various 
climates,  and  residing  several  years  in  the  more  inviting, 
he  at  last,  a  month  before  the  death  of  my  mother,  when 
I  had  attained  the  age  of  twelve,  selected  this  spot  as  his 
permanent  abode.  He  preferred  it  to  all  others,  and  here, 
within  view  of  her  grave,  he  hopes  that  his  wanderings 
will  cease.     In  consequence  of  the  filial  assiduities,  which 


225 

l  nave  endeavoured  to  show  him  during  the  five  years  of 
our  residence  here,  there  seems  to  be  no  indulgence  what- 
ever which  he  is  unwilling  to  allow  me.  Fourteen  nights 
ago,  when  yonder  full  moon  resembled  the  bright  edge  of 
a  sickle,  he  imparted  to  me  something  of  the  power  of 
magic,  and  in  the  fulness  of  fatherly  kindness  permitted 
me  to  visit  his  native  home  and  mine,  far  distant  beyond 
the  western  ocean.  The  short  time  I  have  been  absent, 
has  fleeted  away  with  the  swiftness  of  moments  of  love, 
and  I  now  return  to  my  dear  adopted  banks,  —  return  to 
my  usual  duties  and  pursuits.  Will  you  descend  with  me 
to  the  palace  of  my  father?  It  is  far  down,  underneath 
the  grass-plot  where  we  are  now  standing." 

Daughter  of  a  magician  !  Palace  of  enchantment  be- 
neath the  banks  of  the  Almadora !  Suddenly  become 
enamoured  of  a  female  magician  !  —  These  particulars  shot 
through  the  brain  of  Muzoil  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning. 
Could  he  suspect  such  modesty,  such  undissembling  open- 
ness of  heart  ?  No,  circumstanced  as  he  was,  —  under 
the  influence  of  more  than  magic  illusion,  even  the  strong 
energy  of  his  heart's  first  affection, —  it  was  impossible  to 
refuse  her  request.  Yes,  had  she  been  the  daughter  of 
Khawla  herself,  he  could  not  have  done  it.  Besides,  what- 
ever he  might  think  of  her  father,  he  could  not  but  be- 
lieve herself  one  of  the  best  of  human  beings. 

So  he  gratefully  accepted  her  offered  favour. 

Seraphina  smiled  upon  him  benignly,  and  three  times 
clapping  her  hands,  the  green-sward  before  them  parted, 
and  a  narrow  way  of  marble  steps,  covered  with  rich  car- 
peting, appeared  below.  She  put  her  arm  within  his  again, 
and  they  began  their  descent.  Scarcely  had  they  gone 
down  a  dozen  steps,  ere  the  earth  closed  over  them,  and 
the  passage  was  illumined  by  golden  lamps  suspended 
on  either  side. 

How  he  longed  to  pour  out  his  soul  to  her  as  they 
leisurely  descended !  but  timidity,  awe,  or  I  know  not 
what,  prevented.  How  his  heart  throbbed  !  She  must 
have  felt  and  even  heard  its  throbbing !  She  must 
have  discovered  his  violent  emotion.  But  he  continued 
silent :  some  whispered  words  of  endearment,  a  pressure 
of  the  hand,  and  looks  of  impassioned  tenderness,  were  the 
sole  manifestation    of  what  he    felt.     They    had  passed 


226 

through  eleven  brazen  doors,  with  long  intervals  between 
them,  and  each  one  opened  on  the  waving  of  her  hand  ; 
but  as  the  twelfth  expanded  its  folding  leaves,  they  seemed 
ushered  into  the  Paradise  of  Irem,  —  or  rather  into  what 
might  be  termed  the  spiritual  scene  of  the  natural  scene 
above.  Many,  indeed  most  of  the  objects,  strikingly 
resembled  those  of  the  upper  world,  save  their  surpassing 
beauty.  Still  there  were  new  heavens  and  a  new  earth  : 
by  magic  power  the  moon  still  shone  in  the  west,  but  it 
seemed  to  emit  a  lovelier  light ;  the  stars  beamed  with 
softer  lustre,  the  river  flowed  with  sweeter  murmur,  and 
hills,  valleys,  and  woods  melted  into  a  mellow,  dusky,  in- 
distinct plain  ;  but,  after  all,  what  more  is  the  perfection 
of  magic  than  the  simplicity  of  nature?  The  object  of 
this  subterranean  abode,  a  retreat  from  the  world  so  deep 
within  the  earth,  was  obvious  ;  they  who  formed  it,  made 
magnificence  much  less  their  aim  than  concealment. 

On  the  margin  of  the  stream,  and  surrounded  by  a 
grove  of  beech,  maple,  and  larch,  stood  the  Palace  of 
Enchantment,  whose  lofty  walls  of  white  marble  gleamed 
faintly  in  the  moonlight,  like  the  visionary  dimness  of  an 
ice-coated  wood.  No  other  mansion  was  visible.  Within 
the  grove  a  garden,  from  which  was  wafted  the  perfume 
of  flowers,  gave  additional  beauty  to  this  solitary  but  mag- 
nificent edifice  ;  and  far  as  the  eye  extended,  no  obstruc- 
tion or  inequalities  interrupted  the  dark  verdure  of  the 
waving  surface.  The  soft  breeze  sighed  among  the 
boughs  of  the  grove  as  the  lovers  advanced,  but  they 
paused  not  a  moment  to  enjoy  its  freshness,  or  to  listen  to 
its  mystic  sound. 

As  they  drew  near  the  western  side  of  the  mansion 
remote  from  the  front,  a  small  door  unclosed  of  its  own 
accord,  seeming  to  welcome  their  admission  ;  and  they 
moved  lightly  into  a  long  entry,  passed  through  another 
side-passage  on  the  right,  ascended  a  flight  of  stairs,  and 
entered  a  chamber  on  the  second  story,  fronting  the  water 
toward  the  south.  It  was  the  south-western  chamber  of 
the  story. 

No  sooner  had  they  entered  the  apartment,  than  the 
fair  conducter  of  Muzoil  vanished  without  any  intimation. 
Indeed  she  may  not  have  stepped  within  the  door.  He 
looked  round,  and  she  was  gone.     All  was  still  as  the 


227 

depth  of  night  could  make  it :  no  sound  broke  upon  the 
impressive  silence,  save  the  melancholy  music  of  the 
breeze,  and  the  fancied  or  real  whisperings  of  spirits.  Lit- 
tle could  now  be  discerned  without,  except  the  setting 
moon  beaming  feebly  through  the  grove,  and  giving  a 
steady  farewell  look,  a  melancholy  smile,  to  these  scenes 
of  magic  beauty. 

Going  to  the  doors  of  his  chamber,  Muzoil  found  them 
both  fastened.  Suspicion  began  to  grow  upon  him.  But 
what  motive  could  Seraphina  have  to  lead  him  into  peril  ? 
or  why  should  she  even  allow  him  to  fall  into  harm  ?  He 
so  unequivocally  merited  the  reverse,  that  he  immediately 
dismissed  the  suspicion.  "  It  is  an  unseasonable  hour," 
said  he;  "  she  cannot  introduce  me  to  her  father  now;" 
and  having  no  reason  for  complaint  except  confinement, 
he  patiently  and  confidingly  awaited  the  conclusion  of 
these  witcheries.  —  What,  I  ask  again,  will  be  their  issue? 

The  room  was  completely  furnished.  A  dim  light,  re- 
sembling that  of  a  single  planet,  discovered  a  table  in  the 
centre,  spread  with  delicacies  of  every  description.  All 
tempting  and  refreshing  fruits  were  there.  It  was  a  table 
fitly  furnished  for  the  King  of  the  Genii.  Nothing  but 
society  was  wanting.  He  ate  and  drank  very  sparingly  ; 
and  then,  reclining  on  one  of  the  richest  of  couches  in  the 
south-western  corner  of  his  apartment,  he  mused  on  the 
mysterious  events  of  the  night.  All  seemed  the  merest 
illusion  of  the  senses,  but  still  he  saw  himself  there  in  a 
palace  of  enchantment ;  and  wherever  one  may  be,  how 
can  he  well  dispute  the  evidence  of  hearing,  seeing,  feel- 
ing, taste,  and  touch  ? 

The  moment  he  lay  down,  the  table  vanished,  the  star- 
like taper  was  extinguished  by  an  invisible  hand,  and  he 
was  lulled  to  sleep  by  a  strain  of  music,  very  low  and  soft. 
A  single  musician  drew  such  touching  tones  from  some 
unknown  instrument,  as  almost  overpowered  him.  Did 
they  resemble  the  minstrelsy  of  the  departed  ?  Every 
note  thrilled  his  soul.     So  unearthly  was  the  strain, 

"  It  seemed  from  other  worlds  to  plain  ; 

Thus  falling,  falling  from  afar, 

As  if  some  melancholy  star 

Had  mingled  with  her  light  her  sighs, 

And  dropped  them  from  the  skies." 


228 

The  music  at  length  insensibly  died  away,  but  the  im- 
pression still  dwelt  upon  the  ear  of  memory  ;  and  so  pow- 
erfully were  the  feelings  of  Muzoil  excited,  that  as  old 
recollections  came  over  him,  along  with  that  of  his  inter- 
view with  Seraphina,  tears  gushed  copiously  from  his 
eyes.  He  did  not  sob,  but  half  willingly,  half  unwillingly, 
wept.  It  was  a  strange  and  mixed  emotion,  which  he  had 
never  felt  before.  At  the  same  time,  he  was  happier  than 
he  had  been  for  many  a  weary  month,  —  far  happier  than 
he  had  ever  dared  to  promise  himself.  Recommending 
himself  to  God,  he  soon  fell  asleep,  and  dreamed  over  and 
over  his  adventures  of  the  night. 


CHAPTER  III. 


MUZOIL  GETS  A  MAGIC  RING,  AND  OVERHEARS  A  BLACK 

COMPLOT. 


When  Muzoil  awoke,  daylight  had  dawned  over  the  sea, 
—  the  sea,  river,  and  scenes  of  magic.  The  sun  rose,  un- 
veiling to  the  right  and  the  left  the  long  expanse  of  the 
Almadora,  which  lay  trembling  in  liquid  light.  Imagination 
can  alone  paint  the  scenes  unfolded,  and  to  imagination  I 
leave  them.  The  following  billet  lay  upon  his  pillow,  the 
superscription  not  yet  dry. 

To  the  Wanderer  of  the  Almadora. 

Last  night,  my  friend,  you  were  undoubtedly  amazed  at 
being  confined,  as  well  as  at  my  sudden  departure  ;  but 
before  you  judge  me,  consider  my  motive.  Forgive  me, 
dear  Muzoil,  I  wished  to  discover  what  manner  of  spirit 
you  were  of,  and  for  a  reason  not  now  to  be  mentioned,  I 
desired  to  conceal  your  admittance  here  from  my  father. 
Be  assured  it  will  grieve  me,  if  you  hold  me  inexcusable. 
It  was  the  only  way  I  could  render  your  concealment  sure. 

"  But  why  study  concealment  at  all  ?  "  I  seem  to  hear 
the  ingenuous  Muzoil  exclaim.  Trust  me,  my  friend,  I 
have  a  reason — a  reason  which  you  yourself  will  here- 
after acknowledge  to  be  a  good  one.  Will  you  trust  me  ? 
Will  you  confide  in  my  discretion?  I  think, — I  am  pur- 
suaded  you  will. 

Though  you  knew  it  not,  I  have  proved  you  to  my 
mind.  I  never  entertained  a  doubt,  indeed,  that  I  should 
20 


230 

find  you  all  you  appeared  to  be,  and  more  than  all ;  I 
therefore  made  the  trial  of  your  faith  as  gentle  and  short 
as  possible. 

How  did  you  like  the  music  of  my  magic  instrument  ? 
An  invention  of  my  own.  I  have  named  it  the  tearful 
mystery. 

My  other  plans,  I  fear,  are  discovered.  My  father, 
and  an  associate  of  his  whom,  —  among  a  thousand  other 
things,  —  I  forgot  to  mention  to  you  last  night,  seem  to  be 
employing  their  wits  this  morning  on  some  unknown  project. 
What  makes  me  more  fearful  is  this :  my  father  accuses 
me  in  general  terms  of  misbehaviour;  he  seems,  too, 
unusually  sullen  and  irritable,  and  is  this  moment  perform- 
ing a  charm  to  deprive  me  of  the  power  of  magic. 

When  my  power  is  gone,  you  will  no  longer  remain  in 
concealment,  unless  I  prevent  the  evil  now.  I  therefore, 
before  he  accomplishes  his  purpose,  send  you  this  needful 
information.  You  observe  the  slender  ring  I  inclose.  It 
is  mysteriously  woven  of  a  single  hair.  Place  it  upon  the 
little  finger  of  your  left  hand,  and  it  will  render  you  invisi- 
ble to  the  eye  of  mortals.  I  have  just  made  it  for  you, 
guided  by  instructions  derived  from  the  magician,  who 
accompanies  my  father. 

Of  this  privilege  of  invisibility  make  whatever  use  you 
please,  with  one  exception :  Come  not  near  my  apartment 
within  forty  hours,  —  forty  hours  from  the  moment 
we  entered  the  Palace.  After  leaving  you,  I  perused  the 
constellations,  and  discovered  that  if  we  meet  within  that 
time,  Fate  will  frown.  Therefore  observe  this  injunc- 
tion with  a  scrupulousness  the  most  sacred.  Life  and 
more  than  life  depend  upon  it. 

Be  discreet  and  confiding.  Fear  no  detection,  while 
the  Spirit  of  the  Ring  is  your  friend. 

My  billet  has  grown  into  a  letter.  Excuse  its  imper- 
fections. It  is  the  first  attempt  I  ever  made  to  write  in 
your  language.  But  I  must  not  indulge  my  fond  delay 
a  moment  longer.  I  hear  my  father  ascending  from  be- 
low, —  no  doubt  to  confine  me  to  my  apartment. 

Do  not  forget  the  two  precautions,  nor  your  friend 

Seraphina. 

Having  placed    the    hair-ring  as    directed,  Muzoil  re- 


231 

turned  the  following  answer.     No  sooner  was  it  finished 
and  folded,  than  it  instantly  disappeared. 

TO    SERAPHINA. 

Forget  you  !  Dear  Seraphina,  you  either  think  un- 
worthily of  yourself,  or  imagine  my  memory  to  be  planet- 
struck,  —  (struck  by  those  same  wicked  constellations 
you  have  been  perusing,)  before  the  time.  Both  these 
surmises  are  imaginary. 

Your  imprisonment, — is  it  not  possible  for  me  to  free 
you  ?  My  invisibility  may  afford  me  opportunity. 
Why  may  we  not  escape  from  this  mansion  of  magic  ? 
There  is  another,  the  home  of  truth  and  tenderness,  open 
to  receive  us. 

I  feel  more  grateful  for  your  gift,  than  the  cold  language 
of  words  can  express.  O  that  I  were  with  you,  and 
using  the  more  expressive  language  of  looks  and  tones  ! 
Why  this  injunction  not  to  see  you  !  What  heavier  mis- 
fortune than  absence  from  you  !  Forty  hours  are  forty 
ages.  Why  should  wTe  both  be  invisible,  you  without  the 
ring  and  I  with  it  ? 

O  Seraphina,  dearest  Seraphina,  could  you  know  the 
effect  of  your  melody  !  The  notes  all  seemed  touched 
by  a  messenger  from  heaven,  and  in  reality  they  were. 
They  appear  to  have  made  another  being  of  me.  Angel 
of  light,  when  shall  I  see  you  again  ?  O  when  shall  I 
see  you,  and  call  you  my  own  Seraphina  !  Forgive  me. 
When  I  remember  the  desolation  of  my  cherished  hopes  ; 
when  I  call  to  mind  the  gloom  and  despair  of  last  evening, 
at  the  hour  I  started  from  visions  of  horror,  (as  among  a 
thousand  other  things  I  believe  I  told  you,)  and  walked 
forth  by  the  Almadora ; — the  possibility  of  your  love 
transports  me  beyond  myself.  Who  can  tell  the  conse- 
quences of  that  hour  ?  I  can  only  say,  to  employ  one  of 
the  strong  expressions  of  a  language  you  understand  so 
well,  that  I  have  no  dearer  hope  than  to  be  forevermore 
Your  own 

Muzoil. 

Muzoil  went  immediately  toward  the  eastern  door, 
which  now  opened  of  itself  before  him,  and  slowly  wan- 
dered through  the  endless  suites  of  apartments.     He  found 


232 

them  filled  with  curiosities,  the  workmanship  of  men  and 
genies,  but  he  felt  no  disposition  to  examine  them.  He 
was  absorbed  in  a  more  human  interest,  and  the  burden  of 
suspense  and  impatience  pressed  heavily  upon  his  soul. 

Entering  a  small  remote  chamber,  the  door  of  which 
stood  open,  ....  what  were  his  horror  and  consternation, 
when  the  accursed  Logoul  met  his  view  !  Not  one  cir- 
cumstance of  his  vision,  not  a  single  feature  of  this  terrific 
man-demon,  had  faded  from  his  memory.  How  thankful  he 
felt,  when  he  recollected  the  gift  of  Seraphina,  the  blessed 
ring  of  invisibility !  Logoul  and  the  old  magician  were 
in  violent  dispute.  The  former  continued  in  a  voice  of 
fury  :  — 

Logoul.  I  would,  —  I  would,  —  lightning  blast  me 
if  I  would  not.  I  know  this  young  Muzoil  for  my  foe. 
I  know  my  fate  to  be  somehow  connected  with  his.  When 
Seraphina  returned,  I  had  purposed  to  destroy  him,  but 
some  higher  power  interposed,  —  his  own  guardian  angel, 
perhaps,  or  it  may  have  been  the  confederate  of  that  angel, 
the  Spirit  of  the  Almadora,  —  and  my  vial  scheme  proved 
abortive. 

Old  Magician.  Broken  her  promise,  —  deceived  and 
outwitted  me  at  last.  No  trust,  no  confidence,  can  be 
reposed  in  them.  I  always  knew  how  artful  they  were, 
but  never  suspected  the  artless  simplicity  of  Seraphina, 
the  very  image  of  her  whom  I  loved  and  lost,  and  who 
lies  buried  yonder  beneath  these  banks.  Would  that  I 
were  with  her ! 

Logoul.  Artless  simplicity  !  How  often  have  I  said 
to  you,  —  "  Never  trust  a  woman  !  "  —  and  now  too  late, 
you  see  the  value  of  those  four  words.  The  foot  of  a 
stranger,  wherever  he  may  be  now  concealed,  has  trod  the 
pavement  of  our  enchanted  palace,  —  and  do  you  not 
know  the  consequence  ? 

Old  Magician.  Too  well  I  know  it.  Yes,  inevitable 
destruction,  unless  our  efforts  prevent.  Death  is  the  con- 
sequence.    You,  I,  the  Stranger,  or  my  daughter 

Logoul.     Must  die  ! 

Old  Magician.  Let  us  then  exert  the  powers  we  pos- 
sess. Our  enchantments  shall  bring  this  intruder  out  of 
his  cave  of  concealment ;  and  then  the  fortieth  hour, 


233 

—  not  a  moment  more  is  allowed,  —  the  fortieth  hour 
must  either  give  us  security 

Logoul.     Or  the  flames  of  ruin. 

Old  Magician.  The  first  law  of  nature  is  self-preser- 
vation.    Still  I  cannot  but  feel  a  misgiving,  when  I 

Logoul.  To  business  then.  The  words  are,  the 
Stranger,  Seraphina 

Old  Magician.  Not  Seraphina,  O  not  Seraphina  ! 
Not  one  hair  of  her  head  shall  perish. 

Logoul.  The  words  are,  I  repeat,  the  Stranger,  Ser- 
aphina,  or  ourselves,  —  security  or  perdition. 

Father  of  mercies  !  how  Muzoil  shuddered  as  they 
spoke  !  That  they  should  destroy  this  innocent  maiden 
for  love  of  him  !  —  what  other  motive  than  that  of  love 
could  induce  her  to  admit  him  to  these  forbidden  scenes  ? 

—  It  must  never  be.  But,  alas  !  what  could  he  do  for 
her  ?  He  was  distracted.  He  cared  not  for  himself,  — 
but  that  undeserving  sufferer  !  —  he  instantly  wrote,  ac- 
quainted her  with  their  exact  situation,  again  suggested  the 
possibility  of  their  escape,  and  offered  her  the  ring.  But 
she  returned  for  answer,  that  she  had  little  or  no  fear,  and 
refused  to  take  the  ring,  advising  him  to  await  the  event  in 
peace,  and  not  to  approach  her  solitude  on  any  account 
whatever. 

"  The  fortieth  hour,"  she  added,  "  will  soon  pass  by, 
and  all  will  be  well.  I  have  no  regret  for  the  past,  and  no 
fear  for  the  future.  My  faith  in  God  is  immoveable,  and 
my  regard  for  you,  —  why  should  a  true  heart  withhold 
the  acknowledgment  of  its  holiest  impulse  ?  —  my  affection 
for  you  possesses  the  strong  energy  of  my  faith.  Escape 
we  cannot ;  but  believing  and  waiting,  hoping  the  best  and 
even  enduring  the  worst,  —  these  are  all  within  our 
power." 


20* 


CHAPTER  IV 


MUZOIL  DREAMS  A  DREAM,  AND  SEES  A  VISION. 


The  second  morning  came.  Muzoil  sent  by  his  faithful 
messenger  the  following  letter  : 

To  Seraphina. 

The  eventful  day  has  dawned.  Last  night  I  ascended 
the  roof-walk  of  the  palace,  and  what  was  the  first  object 
that  saluted  me  ?  Nothing  less  brilliant  than  that  planet, 
which  we  called  the  star  of  the  Almadora.  It  was  trem- 
bling through  its  thin  veil  of  mist  westward  from  the  pole. 
How7  forcibly  it  reminded  me  of  another  night-wanderer  of 
the  Almadora,  more  bright  and  beautiful  still.  But  I  have 
no  occasion  for  any  remembrancer  of  earth  or  heaven. 
Still  my  emotions  of  tenderness  are  mingled  with  those  of 
fear  and  apprehension.  Should  our  first  meeting  be  our 
last !  —  Should  I  lose  you  forever  !  The  mournful  pre- 
sentiment continually  crowds  upon  my  imagination.  O 
will  the  time  ever  come,  when  the  bliss  of  our  first  hour 
shall  be  tasted  again ! 

This  is  the  weakness  of  a  too  affectionate  heart,  the 
apprehensiveness  of  a  severely  tried  spirit.  I  feel  and 
confess  it;  and  I  have  prayed  for  more  of  your  unwavering 
confidence. 

A  murmuring  sound  came  from  below.  I  went  down, 
but  saw  no  one  and  heard  nothing.  The  very  silence  of 
death  prevailed. 

You  must  have  witnessed  the  violence  of  the  tempest, 
that  came  on   after  midnight.     I  imagined  you  would  rise, 


235 

and  with  a  hope  of  catching  some  momentary  glimpse  of 
you  through  your  windows,  I  walked  backward  and  for- 
ward before  your  chamber,  but  did  not  see  the  object  of 
my  wishes.  You  did  not  suppose  me  there  amid  the 
strange  portents  of  this  region  of  magic.  But  what  are 
portents  to  me  ! 

As  I  stood  near  the  northern  gate  of  the  garden,  a  mys- 
terious signal  came  in  a  sweep  of  the  wind.  I  listened, 
but  it  was  not  repeated.  This  tempest  may  have  been 
raised  by  the  malice  of  Logoul,  or  it  may  forerun  calamities 
now  rushing  upon  us  all.  Did  you  tell  me,  or  was  it  a 
dream  of  my  own,  that  peaceful  and  unclouded  skies  ever 
gladden  your  abode  ?  I  hope  you  sometimes  find  it  diffi- 
cult to  distinguish  what  you  dream  from  actual  fact.  Is 
it  so? 

Musing  upon  the  mysteries  of  existence,  and  reluctantly 
withdrawing  my  eyes  from  your  windows,  I  re-entered  my 
own  safe  asylum,  repeating  to  myself  the  words  of  an  in- 
visible spirit.  It  was  only  a  few  moments  before  I  met 
you  by  the  Almadora,  when  a  sweet  voice  addressed  me 
from  above.  As  I  tell  you  every  thing,  I  may  have  told 
you  this  ;  if  1  have  not,  I  must  tell  you  now.  "  Only  sub- 
mit," said  the  voice,  "  only  submit  to  the  wisdom  of  the 
All-wise,  —  only  with  cheerful  and  holy  confidence  endure 
the  anguish  of  frustrated  hope,  —  and  such  gifts  await  you, 
as  Infinite  Perfection  grants  to  those  it  loves.  The  mo- 
ment draws  near.  Rich  blessings  are  in  store  for  you. 
They  appear  when  least  expected.  Walk  forth  by  the 
Almadora,  and  bid  them  welcome." 

The  voice  spoke  in  mystery,  but  I  determined  to  obey 
its  command.  I  walked  forth  by  the  Almadora,  hoping 
indeed  that  I  might  welcome  the  fulfilling  of  the  promise, 
but  doubting  more.  I  now  understand  something,  I  trust, 
of  the  purposes  of  Providence.  May  we  both  have 
strength  of  faith  to  confide  in  their  wisdom.  The  dawn  of 
hope  has  touched  our  horizon,  and  we  are  longing  for  the 
day,  but  the  gloom  of  night  is  still  around  us.  May  we 
have  grace  to  believe  and  to  wait. 

My  dreams  however  have  been  most  sweet.  Scarcely 
had  I  fallen  into  a  slumber  on  my  couch,  when  I  seemed 
to  be  reclining  upon  the  bank  of  the  Almadora,  and  kissing 


236 

the  spot  where  you  first  descended  from  the  mountain,  on 
your  return  from  your  visit  beyond  the  western  waters. 
At  that  moment  I  espied  a  bright-eyed  maiden  coming  up 
the  bank  with  the  speed  of  a  spirit.  She  rather  flew  than 
touched  the  green  turf,  and  like  yourself,  when  you  came 
down  the  mountain  side,  she  was  with  me. 

"  And  pray  who  was  she  ?  " 

Seraphina  herself.  Your  countenance  wore  the  very 
smile  of  heaven  ;  you  were  all  animation  and  loveliness  ; 
but  the  instant  I  opened  my  lips  to  address  you,  my  eye 
glanced  upon  a  dark  cloud  hanging  over  the  Almadora, 
and  on  its  obscurity  we  saw  these  words  written  in  hues  of 
light : 

"  HOW  BEAUTIFUL  THE  BLUSH  OF  MORNING  !  BuT  A 
CLOUD,  TINGED  BY  THE  MOONBEAM,  AND  THROUGH  WHOSE 
FOLDINGS  OF  SILVER  SMILES  A  STAR,  IS  THE  LUSTRE  OF 
SPIRITUAL  BEAUTY." 

The  moment  I  withdrew  my  eyes  from  this  image  of 
mystery,  and  rested  them  upon  your  form  and  features, 
you  seemed  to  fade  into  air  like  a  column  of  mist.  Do 
interpret  for  me. 

Your  father  and  Logoul,  —  (T  grieve  that  your  father 
suffers  that  demon  to  be  his  companion,)  — have  not  ap- 
peared since  I  listened  to  their  dreadful  discourse.  Are 
they  plotting  our  destruction  ?  Dear  Seraphina,  I  am 
immoveably  resolved  :  if  it  be  the  will  of  Heaven  that  one 
of  us  must  perish,  most  willingly  will  I  part  with  this  worth- 
less life, —  no,  not  worthless,  if  it  be  dear  to  you;  but 
whatever  be  its  worth,  I  most  willingly  resign  it  for  you. 
Oh  what  is  life,  when  all  its  delights  are  gone  !  May  I  be 
able  to  hope  the  best,  and  endure  the  worst. 

I  long,  yet  tremble  for  the  moment  of  fate,  —  the  for- 
tieth hour. 

Your  own 

Muzoil. 


CHAPTER  V 


HOW  MUZOIL  SAW  A  SPIRIT,  AND,    EVEN   AT    THE  PERIL    GE 
HIS  LIFE.   BROEE   HIS   MAGIC   RING. 


During  the  remainder  of  the  day,  Muzoil  wandered  over 
this  mansion  of  mysteries.  While  Seraphina  remained, 
he  would  not  have  escaped,  even  had  it  been  in  his  power. 
He  could  take  no  refreshment,  although  his  trusty  spirit 
furnished  him  abundantly.  No  one  appeared.  The  ma- 
gicians had  failed  in  their  efforts  of  enchantment.  The 
ring  and  the  spirit  of  the  ring  were  too  powerful  for  them. 
No  sound,  but  the  distant  roaring  of  the  ocean,  broke  the 
awful  stillness.  Evening  came,  hot  and  suffocating.  Dark- 
ness followed  with  unusual  rapidity.  No  twilight,  no 
moon,  no  stars.  Fancy  or  fear  foreboded  something  un- 
known and  terrible. 

Wearied  with  doing  nothing,  effecting  nothing,  —  what 
could  he  effect? — he  wandered  up  the  river  bank,  until 
the  Palace  had  become  invisible  in  the  darkness ;  and  feel- 
ing very  sad  and  sick  at  heart,  he  sat  down  on  a  rock  near 
the  water.  Resting  his  elbow  upon  his  knee,  and  his 
cheek  upon  his  hand,  he  sat  musing  upon  the  hour  of  fate, 
that  seemed  to  be  drawing  nigh  ;  when,  toward  the  south, 
a  bright  spot  of  fire  appeared  at  considerable  distance  on 
the  river.  It  grew,  it  swelled,  it  became  a  blaze  of  glory, 
it  lighted  up  the  whole  shore  and  stream  ;  when  from  this 
involving  illumination  burst  a  youthful  Form,  habited  in  a 
flowing  robe.  He  slowly  moved  toward  Muzoil.  There 
was  a  winning  vivacity  in  his  air,  a  glow  of  beauty  in  his 
features,   while  his   eye   beamed   forth   the   soft   lustre  of 


238 

benevolence.     A  something,  half  gay  and  half  melancholy, 
spoke  in  the  tones  of  his  voice,  as  he  exclaimed  : 

"  Muzoil,  arise !  Behold  the  Spirit  of  the  Almadora 
before  you.     Listen  to  what  I  say.     I  can  read  the  heart. 

""Two  evenings  ago,  you  met  and  you  loved  a  sylph- 
like maiden  of  these  Banks.  You  were  in  my  dominion, 
(for  what  is  magic  to  me  !)  and  I  witnessed  all  your  move- 
ments. Yes,  that  burning  blush  confirms  the  truth  of  what 
I  say.  Do  not  imagine  I  condemn  your  feelings.  What 
were  man  without  them?  In  their  purest  manifestation, 
these  emotions  ally  you  to  beings  of  a  nature  altogether 
spiritual.  But  you  are  young,  inexperienced,  under  the 
influence  of  peculiar  bereavement,  and  therefore  more  ex- 
posed to  the  power  of  delusion. 

"  I  ask  you  at  once,  then,  is  Seraphina  worthy  of  your 
affection  ?  I  acknowledge,  that  although  daughter  of  a 
magician,  I  have  esteemed  her  one  of  the  best,  the  most 
undeceiving  of  your  race.  Such  she  has  been,  but  is  she 
so  now,  since  her  visit  to  the  country  of  magicians  ?  Ten- 
derness for  your  feelings  might  make  me  withhold  my  fear 
that  she  is  unworthy,  yet  truth  and  affection  bid  me  warn 
you  to  beware. 

"  I  speak  not  of  the  power  she  received  from  her  father. 
In  that,  perhaps  she  was  an  innocent  recipient,  unconscious 
of  evil.  But  when  she  returned,  did  I  not  see  her  diffuse 
around  you  the  mist  of  magic,  such  as  no  unaided  mortal 
could  withstand  ?  You  yourself  saw  her,  but  you  saw  not 
my  friend,  your  guardian  spirit,  counteract  the  fatal  pur- 
pose. Can  this  be  like  that  simplicity,  which  thinketh  no 
evil  ?  Beware.  Such  illusions  of  magic,  unless  thwarted 
by  the  interposition  of  Heaven,  lead  to  immediate  destruc- 
tion ;  and  such,  you  have  reason  to  fear,  was  the  secret 
object  of  Seraphina. 

"This  is  not  all :  the  worst  remains  to  be  told.  To 
accomplish  some  private  scheme,  which  she  may  believe 
to  be  justifiable,  she  has  given  you,  possibly  indeed  without 
knowing  its  fatal  effect,  the  deadly  hair-ring  of  invisibility, 
which  none  of  humankind  ever  wore  two  days  with  life. 
Burst,  burst  it  asunder.  The  hand  of  death  is  even  now 
upon  you.  You  become  visible  indeed,  and  exposed  to 
peril ;  but  make  the  wisest  use  of  your  own  powers,  while 
you  put  unlimited  confidence  in  God,  and  the  event  cannot 


239 

be  such  as  you  need  fear.  Remember  these  words  of 
kindness  and  caution.  The  Spirit  of  the  Almadora  is  as- 
suredly your  friend." 

The  Spirit  gave  a  tearful  and  melancholy  smile,  and 
with  all  his  glory  vanished  like  a  dream. 

Surprise,  astonishment,  and  anguish  choked  the  utter- 
ance of  the  wretched  Muzoil.  "  This,"  he  at  length 
exclaimed,  "this  is  my  sole  unexpected  calamity,  —  a 
thunder- stroke  from  a  cloudless  sky.  And  is  that  fair  ex- 
cellence,—  what  I  fondly  imagined  to  be  such,  —  isthat 
fair  excellence  no  more !  Is  Seraphina,  Seraphina  be- 
come beautiful  unworthiness  !  If  there  is  truth  in  woman, 
it  is  impossible.  And  yet  the  voice  of  the  Spirit  still  rings 
in  my  ear,  'Beware  !'  Oh,  are  all  my  joys  thus  to  glide 
away  in  the  stream  of  disappointment !  Better  had  death 
ended  at  once  both  life  and  misery." 

Muzoil  was  bewildered.  He  was  deserving  of  the  deep- 
est commiseration.  What  should  he  do  ?  He  was  man, 
and  human  feeling  prevailed.  Fearless  of  consequences, 
and  strong  in  the  conviction  of  the  Spirit's  veracity,  he 
tore  the  ring  from  his  finger,  burst  its  fatal  circlet  asunder, 
and,  overmastered  by  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  stamped 
it  in  fury  under  his  feet ;  and  knowing  himself  to  be  no 
longer  invisible,  he  in  his  frenzy  of  indignation  rushed 
toward  the  palace.  But  scarcely  had  he  come  within 
view  of  the  grove,  when  looking  up  amid  the  thick  dark- 
ness, his  eye-balls  grew  stiff,  his  heart  froze  with  horror ; 
for  out  of  that  black  canopy,  that  shroud  of  impending 
vapours,  a  mighty  arm,  clothed  in  lightning,  burst  forth, 
came  down  as  he  stood  immoveable,  lifted  him  with  the 
force  and  swiftness  of  Fate  into  the  air,  and  hurried  him 
away  through  infinite  space. 

The  black  canopy  which  shrouded  the  face  of  heaven 
now  changed  to  flame,  the  whole  firmament  seemed  on 
fire,  and  Muzoil  was  held  by  the  grasping  hand  of  that 
resistless  arm  suspended  over  an  ocean,  immeasurable  and 
shoreless,  whose  billows  rose  and  swelled,  burst  and  roared 
beneath  that  world  of  flame:  —  it  held  him  a  moment, 
until  he  saw  the  hideous  shape,  and  heard  the  demon 
laugh  of  Logoul,  then  hurled  him  from  its  grasp ;  and  lo  ! 
the  flaming  heavens  were  dark  again,  and  he  felt,  in  the 
rush  of  his  descent,  that  his  hour  was  come. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


HOW   MUZOIL   REBUKED    THE   FAIR  DAMSEL,   AND  WHAT 
CAME  OF   IT. 


"  And  do  the  mysteries  of  magic  end  thus  ?  Did  magi- 
cians and  demons  of  malice  conspire  to  destroy  ?  And 
were  there  no  spirits  of  health  to  soothe  and  to  save  ? " 

Reader,  distrust  not  the  goodness  of  Providence.  The 
fortieth  hour,  though  near,  is  not  yet  come. 

Scarcely  had  the  feet  of  Muzoil  touched  the  mountain 
swell  of  the  deep,  ere  the  Spirit  of  the  Almadora  was 
visibly  with  him,  and  with  a  single  wave  of  his  hand 
brushed  away  the  impending  gloom ;  when,  behold !  the 
moon  and  stars  beamed  mildly  over  the  waste  of  waters. 
Did  the  spirit  take  his  hand  ?  Did  they  move  with  spirit- 
speed  over  the  gently  subsiding  wave  ?  He  took  his  hand, 
wafted  him  with  spirit-swiftness  over  the  heaving  wave, 
and  they  stood  amid  the  grove  of  the  palace  of  enchant- 
ment. 

"  The  wicked  have  conspired  your  death,"  said  the 
preserver  of  Muzoil ;  "  but  even  amid  the  wreck  of  worlds," 
he  added,  "confide  in  the  Supreme  Disposer,  and  nothing 
of  real  calamity  can  assail  you.  Be  firm  in  faith.  The 
eventful  moment  draws  near.  Though  forbidden  by  Sera- 
phina,  go  to  her  apartment ;  an  unseen  power  will  direct 
and  receive  you  ;  and  while  you  feel  constrained  to  speak 
the  words  of  truth,  remember  to  speak  them  with  the  ten- 
derness of  Christian  love.  She  may  be  more  innocent 
than  appearances  seem  to  show  ;  and  even  if  not  so,  shall 
a  single  error  of  youth  have  more  weight  than  the  exem- 


241 

plary  conduct  of  her  whole   life?     Be  the   divine  light  of 
the  golden  rule  your  guide,  and  ever  hope  for  the  best." 

Thus  speaking,  the  Spirit  of  the  Almadora  vanished  in 
air,  and  the  same  obscurity  covered  the  heavens  as  before. 

The  powers  of  Muzoil  had  now  returned  in  vigour  ;  re- 
membrance came  over  him  like  a  cloud  ;  he  rushed  to  the 
apartment  of  Seraphina,  and  found  her  door  standing  open. 
But  all  the  seventy  of  feeling,  or  intensity  of  emotion 
rather,  which  had  hurried  him  thither,  instantly  subsided 
on  his  viewing  the  guileless  simplicity,  that  sat  tranquilly 
on  her  countenance  ;  and  instead  of  his  vehement  upbraid- 
ings,  he  could  vent  nothing  but  a  flood  of  impassioned  tears. 

She  eyed  him  with  a  look  of  surprise  and  sorrow,  but 
no  consciousness  of  guilt,  not  so  much  as  the  faintest  sem- 
blance of  evil,  was  visible.  On  the  contrary,  the  same 
lovely  expression,  call  it  rather  the  same  seraphic  emana- 
tion of  a  finely  touched  spirit,  which  he  had  admired  and 
loved  the  first  moment  they  met,  still  imparted  the  charac- 
ter of  inspired  beauty,  almost  the  beauty  of  holiness,  to 
her  features.  But  the  "beware"  of  the  warning  spirit 
came  over  his  soul,  and  gave  him  sufficient  command  of 
himself  to  address  her. 

Muzoil.  Seraphina!  Seraphina!  do  we  meet  for  the 
last  time  ?     Must  I  bid  you  farewell  forever  ? 

Seraphina.  Bid  me  farewell?  How  then  am  I  to 
interpret  your  expressions  of  impassioned  regard  ?  I  re- 
main unchanged  myself.  What  can  have  produced  this 
air  of  wildness,  this  strange  alienation,  in  you  ?  Some 
delusion  has  siezed  you.  This  is  no  time  for  unkindness, 
Muzoil.  You  will  not  leave  me,  —  leave  me  to  brave 
alone  the  exasperation  of  a  justly  incensed  father  ?  I  will 
not,  cannot  believe  you  unfaithful  and  undeserving.  You 
cannot  leave  me  to  perish,  —  me  who  have  preserved  your 
life.  — Where  is  the  ring?  And  why  do  I  see  you  here  ? 
Fatal,  fatal  rashness !  The  fortieth  hour  is  not  yet 
passed. 

Muzoil.     O  thou  dissembling even  now  my  lips 

refuse  to  utter  what  I  cannot  but  feel.  What  was  your 
affection  for  me,  but  poison  ?  What  was  your  preserva- 
tion of  me,  but  death  ?  Seraphina,  you  are  detected.  The 
All-seeing  Eye  has  been  upon  you.  Remember  the  mist 
2J 


24-2 

of  the  vial ; —  remember  the  venom  of  the  ring.  A  spirit 
has  been  commissioned  to  expose  your  malice,  and  by  his 
command  I  now  seek  your  presence. 

Seraphina.  Believe  him  not :  it  was  a  spirit  of  false- 
hood. 

Muzoil.  O  how  have  I  deserved  evil  from  you  ?  With 
what  tenderness,  with  what  glowing  warmth  of  passion,  I 
loved  you  !  My  character,  my  mind,  myself,  I  imagined 
to  be  not  displeasing  to  you.  I  imagined,  mistaken  fool 
that  I  was  !  that  your  soul  was  on  your  lips,  that  it  beamed 
from  your  eye.  Had  I  not  reason  ?  I  thought  you  sin- 
cere as  an  angel  in  heaven. 

Seraphina.  You  thought  right.  You  did  me  no  more 
than  justice.  I  was  sincere.  Spare  yourself,  O  spare  your- 
self the  grief  that  will  come  upon  you  from  thus  wronging 
me.  You  are  deceived.  I  am  not  undeserving,  as  you 
think  me.     Dear  Muzoil,  you  are  deceived. 

Muzoil.  Alas,  Seraphina,  that  the  moment  has  come, 
a  moment  even  more  fatal  than  the  fortieth  hour  can 
be,  when  I  am  forced  to  accuse  you  !  What  would  I  not 
have  done  for  you  !  Oh,  how  intensely  my  soul  clung  to 
your  image  !  Do  I  then  love  you  no  more  ?  False  and 
unmerciful  !  — what  a  heart  have  you  destroyed  ! 

Seraphina.  O  no  more;  do  not,  —  you  break  my 
heart. 

Muzoil.  This  must  be  our  last  meeting,  and  I  cannot 
give  up  with  indifference  what  I  once  loved  with  a  passion 
so  strong.  But  farewell,  farewell,  Seraphina.  Whatever 
my  fate  may  be,  my  heart  will  ever  mourn  the  perversion 
of  a  spirit  so  pure ;  disappointed  and  crushed  as  it  is,  it 
will  breathe  a  prayer  for  you  even  in  its  last  struggles. 
It  is  not  yourself,  but  the  accursed  duplicity  of  magic  that 
destroys  us.  Remember  me  sometimes,  Seraphina.  When 
in  a  still  evening  you  see  our  planet  smiling  from  heaven, 
think  of  the  banks  where  we  met,  and  shed  one  tear  to  the 
memory  of  him  who  loved  you  well.  Farewell.  Even 
now  will  I  die  for  you.  —  (Turning  to  leave  the  room.) 

Seraphina.  Never! — never!  I  may  be  unworthy 
of  such  warmth  of  attachment ;  but  still,  if  in  aught  I  have 
done  wrong,  I  am  the  innocent  victim  of  another's  crime. 
I  am  conscious  of  no  deceit  or  insincerity  toward  you. 
One  moment  hear  me. 


243 

When  I  departed  on  my  visit  to  the  land  of  my  birth, 
Logoul  discovered  by  his  art,  that  the  first  person  I  should 
meet,  on  my  return,  wandering  the  banks  of  the  Almadora, 
he  was  doomed  to  find  his  enemy ;  and  to  secure  himself 
against  the  enmity  of  this  foe,  he  made  me  promise  to  pour 
amid  the  air  the  little  vial  you  saw.  If  I  obeyed,  he  said, 
I  was  destined  to  be  happy  with  the  individual  I  most 
loved.  He  gave  me  the  vial  himself,  and  such  he  said 
were  the  sole  properties  of  the  charm.  He  called  it  his 
charm  of  self-defence.  I  now  fear  that  his  purpose  was 
criminal ;  but  for  myself,  I  never  meant  nor  suspected 
injury.  Injury  !  O  no.  I  must  lay  open  to  you  my 
whole  heart.  The  first  hour  I  saw  you,  my  heart  was 
yours.  It  was  love  made  me,  disobeying  the  command  of 
my  father,  introduce  you  into  his  palace;  and  this  same 
affection  has  made  me  strive  to  conceal  and  preserve  you 
here.  I  knew  that  I  had  done  wrong ;  but  I  saw  in  the 
stars,  that  could  the  fortieth  hour  pass  over,  and  you 
not  behold  me,  all  would  end  happily.  Heaven  sees  not 
as  man  sees.  I  have  disobeyed  my  father ;  it  is  the  first 
and  only  time;  and  if  it  be  the  will  of  Infinite  Wisdom, 
my  life  shall  pay  the  forfeit  of  my  disobedience. 

Muzoil.  Forgive  me,  forgive  me,  Seraphina  !  I  was 
deceived  ;  and  I  echo  your  "  Never,  O  never !  "  from  my 
inmost  soul.  I  am  most  happy,  — most  blessed,  in  finding 
you  innocent. 

Seraphina.  For  your  sake,  for  my  own  sake,  dear 
Muzoil,  I  too  am  most  blessed  in  being  so.  But  now,  — 
what  now  is  to  be  done  ?  That  fatal  period,  — only  a  few 
moments  remain. 

Muzoil.  Our  circumstances,  our  hopes,  our  fears,  — 
all  urge  us  to  immediate  determination.  Your  father,  — 
shall  we  not  hasten  to  him  together,  and  together  spread 
before  him  every  event,  —  the  whole  of  our  little  history 

Of  FORTY  HOURS  ? 

Seraphina.  It  is  the  most  ardent  wish  of  my  heart. 
Let  us  hasten,  —  this  moment  let  us  hasten  to  my  father. 


CHAPTER   VII 


MUZOIL  AMID  THUNDER,  LIGHTNING,  AND  AN  EARTHQUAKE, 
AND  THE  GREAT  GOOD  THEY  DID  HIM. 


At  that  instant  fearful  sounds,  like  the  deepening  thun- 
der of  a  gong,  were  heard  throughout  this  region  of  sorcery. 
Did  they  announce  the  fatal  moment,  the  fortieth 
hour,  to  have  come  ?  The  sea  was  heard  to  roar  tumult- 
uously  ;  a  sweeping  hurricane  shook  the  mansion  of  magic 
to  its  foundation;  folding  sheets  of  fire  completely  in- 
volved it ;  and  the  screams  of  demons,  exulting  with  joy, 
mingled  with  the  crash  of  thunder. 

Amid  this  tumult  of  conflicting  elements,  rushed  in  the 
old  magician  and  Logoul ;  the  former  was  pale  with  dis- 
may, but  the  features  of  the  latter  exhibited  a  living  picture 
of  ferocity.     The  father  of  Seraphina  spoke  with  tears. 

Old  Magician.  My  child,  my  child,  what  have  you 
done  !  Your  disobedience  —  your  breaking  my  command 
—  it  is  you  that  produce  this  wreck  of  nature  and  of  my 
dearest  hopes.  Destruction  is  this  moment  impending.  One 
must  die,  perhaps  all.  On  this  condition  only  I  retain  my 
palace:  —  The  foot  of  a  stranger  must  never  cross 
its  threshold.  Seraphina,  it  was  parental  love  made 
me  grant  your  request :  O  my  daughter,  how  could  you 
abuse  my  confidence ! 

Seraphina.  My  dear  father !  it  was  love  of  this 
stranger.  I  alone  am  guilty;  on  me  let  the  punishment 
fall. 

Muzoil.  On  me,  on  me,  O  magician  !  let  the  thunder 
burst  on  me.  I  have  no  wish  to  live, —  none,  separate 
from  your  daughter's  love. 


245 

Logoul.  Both,  both,  annihilate  them  both !  one  for 
endangering  our  place  of  abode,  the  other  for  trusting  to  a 
woman's  love.  Stand  off,  magician  !  stand  off!  or  you  too 
feel  my  power.  Let  me  strike,  let  me  strike.  I'll  scatter 
their  limbs  in  the  tempest,  and  send  their  souls  howling 
with  demons.     A  moment  more,  and  we  are  gone     .     .     . 

Old  Magician.  Logoul !  have  you  no  pity  for  the 
errors  of  human  nature  ?  Logoul !  what  are  we  ?  Crim- 
inal and  abandoned  as  I  am,  through  your  infernal  seduc- 
tions, I  cannot  consent  to  destroy  this  unoffending  stranger. 
Much  less  can  I  touch  the  life  of  my  daughter,  the  only 
child  of  my  days  of  innocence.  What  appeared  trivial  in 
prospect,  now  wears  its  true  face  of  horror. 

Voice  amid  the  uproar.  Magician  !  remember  the  cove- 
nant, —  remember  the  condition,  and  tremble  ! 

Old  Magician.  Take  back  thy  palace  of  enchant- 
ment, thou  Unseen  !  in  the  name  of  the  Almighty.  In 
this  awful  name  I  most  willingly  throw  from  me  the  accurs- 
ed art,  both  now  and  forever.  O  Being  of  beings,  let  this 
suffice.  I  cannot  destroy  the  innocent ;  I  cannot  harm  my 
daughter  ;  I  fear  the  hand  of  Heaven.     I  cannot 

"  But  I  can,"  roared  the  infuriate  Logoul.  "  No  power 
in  the  universe  shall  withhold  me."  He  then  burst  from 
the  grasp  of  the  magician,  and,  furiously  brandishing  his 
sword,  rushed  forward  with  dreadful  impetuosity  ;  but  ere 
he  could  execute  his  fell  purpose,  a  thunder-stroke  stretch- 
ed him  black  and  breathless  on  the  floor. 

At  the  very  moment  of  this  catastrophe,  the  guardian 
spirit  of  Muzoil  became  visible  in  glory,  took  his  hand, 
and,  while  amid  the  convulsions  of  an  earthquake,  the 
palace  was  crumbling  to  atoms,  they  were  imperceptibly 
lifted  above  this  suffocating  atmosphere  ;  and  lo  !  they  stood 
on  his  own  native  banks,  and  once  more  breathed  the  fresh 
air  of  liberty.  No  hurricane,  no  sweeping  whirlwind,  no 
confusion  of  elements  :  a  soft  breeze  gently  curled  the  sur- 
face of  the  Almadora;  the  moon  walked  in  brightness  and 
beauty  ;  and  the  dark-blue  dome  of  heaven,  studded  with 
stars,  beamed  peacefully  over  them. 

This  holy  transition  Muzoil  felt  to  be  the  Peace,  he 
still,  of  miraculous  power.  His  heart  rose  to  thank  his 
21* 


246 

deliverer;  but  overwhelmed  with  consternation,  as  memory 
rushed  upon  him,  he  exclaimed  in  agony : 

"Where  is  Seraphina?  Where  is  the  innocent  Sera- 
phina  ?     Why  did  I  not  perish  with  Seraphina  !  " 

The  Spirit  mildly  and  thoughtfully  replied  :  "  The  ways 
of  Heaven  are  ways  of  wisdom.  Your  loss  is  indeed  se- 
vere. I  feel  its  extent,  and  1  give  you  the  strong  sympa- 
thy of  a  spiritual  nature,  —  the  sympathy  of  a  heart 
tenderly  interested  in  all  that  concerns  you.  But  what- 
ever may  be  your  calamity,  whether  trivial  or  as  now 
disastrous,  should  you  exclaim,  "  Why  did  I  not  perish 
with  Seraphina !  better  had  death  ended  at  once  both  life 
and  misery."  O  no  :  give  to  every  event  of  your  life  a 
proportionate  regard.  Remember  the  words  of  the  wise  : 
"  The  veil  which  conceals  from  view  the  events  of  futuri- 
ty, is  a  veil  woven  by  the  hand  of  Mercy."  God  is  wise, 
and  will  he  not  know  ?  God  is  merciful,  and  will  he  not 
pity  ?  God  is  almighty,  and  will  he  not  afford  alleviation  ? 
He  removed  from  you,  one  after  another,  all  you  most 
loved  and  cherished  on  earth.  He  left  you  at  last  in  utter 
loneliness,  and  now  he  has  taken  from  you  Seraphina,  his 
newly  bestowed  gift,  the  dearest  and  the  best.  Still  con- 
fide in  his  wisdom  and  goodness.  Though  he  slay  you, 
still  put  your  trust  in  him.  The  time  will  come,  and  it 
may  not  be  far  distant,  when  you  will  feel  and  acknowl- 
edge his  infinite  love.  Return  home,  pour  out  your  heart 
before  him,  and  be  no  more  distrustful  of  His  providence. 
"  Here,  or  hereafter  !  "  is  the  voice  of  promise  :  rich 
and  sure  are  the  rewards  of  faith.  Believe  in  the  truth 
and  watchful  tenderness  of  your  guardian  Spirit." 

The  Spirit  ceased,  and  faded  into  air. 

Before  Muzoil  returned  home  to  his  lonely  dwelling,  he 
fell  on  his  face  in  the  dust,  and  prayed  with  a  gush  of 
tears :  "  O  God,  convinced  of  the  wisdom  of  thine  every 
purpose  and  dispensation,  however  mysterious,  I  submit  to 
thy  will,  [f  it  be  thy  will,  O  take  me  home  to  the  loved 
and  the  lost.  If  it  be  thy  wisdom  that  I  remain  longer 
upon  earth,  I  bow  to  thy  sovereignty  in  holy  confidence. 
O  my  Maker  and  Disposer,  pity  and  enlighten  thy  lonely 
child.  I  put  my  trust  in  thee,  and  wait  for  thy  salva- 
tion." 


247 

When  Muzoil  arose,  the  peace  of  earth,  air,  and  heaven 
that  breathed  around  him,  breathed  also  within  his  soul  ; 
for  the  influences  of  that  spirit  for  which  he  had  prayed, 
had  been  granted  to  his  prayer. 

Pausing  to  realize  this  divine  calm  of  the  soul,  before 
proceeding  to  his  home,  whom  does  he  behold,  —  what 
blessed  vision  does  he  see  rise  before  him,  in  the  light  of 
the  moon  ?  And  did  his  guardian  Spirit,  did  the  Spirit  of 
the  Almadora,  perfectly  accomplish  their  purpose  of  kind- 
ness ?  Yes,  their  good  work  is  done  ;  their  scheme  of  love 
and  trial  is  completed.  His  own,  his  true,  his  well  beloved 
Seraphina  falls  upon  his  neck  in  the  mute  ecstasy  of  grati- 
tude and  affection  ;  while  her  father,  rescued  from  perdi- 
tion, sheds  tears  of  heavenly  hope. 

O  blessed  re-union  I  Christian  light  and  Christian  joys 
are  around  them.  The  delights  of  mutual  tenderness,  the 
energy  of  faith  in  the  divine  will,  the  glowings  of  pure  de- 
votion, —  these  form  the  bliss  of  father,  son,  and  wife,  and 
these  are  enough.  They  are  happy.  Their  lives  remind 
you  of  the  mysterious  words  that  appeared  written  on  the 
cloud,  and  make  them  clear  as  the  characters  of  truth  : 

"Beautiful  is  the  blush  of  morning, —  the 
splendour  of  youthful  hope  and  love  ;  but  the 
lustre  of  matured  affection,  the  cloud  of  even- 
ing, made  luminous  by  the  moon,  with  the  star  of 

immortal  life  gleaming  from  beyond, this  is  that 

spiritual  light  which  neither  fades  on  earth  nor 


This  family  of  love,  —  do  they  dwell  in  the  abode  of 
the  humble,  far  removed  from  the  forbidden  riches  and 
false  grandeur  of  sorcery  ?  They  dwell  also  in  the  abode 
of  the  believing,  the  obedient,  and  the  blest  of  heaven. 

Ascending  the  loftiest  eminence  on  the  bank,  the  father 
often  views  the  scene  of  his  guilt,  his  penitence,  his  pre- 
servation ;  and,  near  the  grave  of  his  departed  Selena,  he 
lives  in  holy  hope  of  pardon  and  acceptance ;  while  Mu- 
zoil and  Seraphina  never  lift  their  eyes  toward  the  moun- 
tain in  the  west,  without  giving  thanks  to  Infinite  Goodness 
for  creating  them,  and  making  them  one.     The  lustre  of 


248 

the  moon,  setting  over  it,  is  not  softer  or  more  tranquil 
than  their  confidence  in  each  other.  Their  faithful  guar- 
dian Spirit,  and  his  sympathizing  brother  of  the  Almadora, 
they  bear  in  grateful  remembrance ;  and  they  bless  the 
Sovereign  Disposer,  that  the  fortieth  hour  is  gone 
forever,  leaving  them  not  only  unharmed,  but  in  greater 
security  and  happiness,  it  may  be,  than  thay  had  ever 
dared  to  anticipate. 


WERTER'S    WARNING 


I  then  sink  into  a  deep  reverie,  and  cannot  help  saying:  — '  Were 

Albert  to  die,  Charlotte  and  I  would ' 

Letter  60. 


The  night  was  cool  and  tranquil.  I  was  walking  the 
palace-roof  of  home  ;  and,  as  I  mused  on  the  close  of  the 
year  and  the  swiftness  of  time,  I  saw  in  the  southern  sky 
a  bright  circlet  of  stars,  resembling  the  Pleiades  so  ar- 
ranged. 

At  this  image  of  magic  beauty  I  gazed  in  delightful 
wonder,  but  my  wonder  soon  became  astonishment ;  for 
the  starry  circlet,  with  a  strange  whirling  motion,  rapidly 
drew  nigh,  and  tempestuously  dispersed  around  me  in 
snow-flakes  of  fire, — soft,  chill,  transparent.  With  these 
descending  gems  of  heaven  music  sweetly  and  mournfully 
mingled,  and  the  voice  of  an  unseen  Being  arrested  my 
ear:  "Werter!  one  warning  more,  and  we  part, — 
part  forever." 

Werter.  Part,  O  invisible  spirit! — We  have  but 
this  moment  met,  and  do  you  speak  of  our  parting  ?  Say, 
what  mysterious  Being  addresses  me  ? 

Genius.  And  are  we  strangers  ?  Twelve  months  have 
we  been  companions,  although  we  are  never  to  meet  again. 
You  ought  by  this  time  to  know  the  Genius  of  the  De- 
parting Year. 

Werter.  Do  we  then  separate  forever  ?  It  is  a 
mournful  voice,  which  says  '  forever.'  It  is  mournful,  we 
hear  it  said,  eternally  to  part  even  with  an  enemy  ;  but  in 
bidding  you  farewell,  Genius  of  the  Year,  a  more  tender 
emotion  swells  within  me.  My  treatment  of  you,  I  ac- 
knowledge, has  not  been  according  to  your  merit,  though 
I  have  ever  been  your  friend  at  heart ;  but  for  your  assi- 
duities to  me,  Old  Year,  I  am  doubly  grateful.     You  have 


250 

lifted  to  my  view  a  glimpse  of  joys,  hard  to  be  imagined 
and  seldom  realized,  —  a  transient,  moonlight  glimpse  of 
other  worlds : 

"  For  all  I  see  around  me  wears 

The  hue  of  other  spheres  ; 

And  something  blent  of  smiles  and  tears 

Comes  from  the  very  air  I  breathe. 

Oh,  nothing,  sure,  the  stars  beneath, 

Can  mould  a  sadness  like  to  this 

So  like  angelic  bliss." 

Genius.  A  favoured  mortal  you  have  been,  and  you 
well  know  the  worth  of  such  favours.  Few  can  value 
them  aright.  But  has  not  your  lot  been  like  the  general 
lot  of  man,  —  stars  of  beauty  beaming  amid  skies  of 
gloom  ? 

Werter.  Not  free  from  darkness  and  the  shadow  of 
death.  O  no,  anguish  has  at  times  crushed  me  to  the 
earth  ;  but  still  so  brilliant  have  been  the  star-beams  con- 
ferred, I  am  full  of  gratitude.  At  this  moment  I  better 
than  ever  appreciate  both  their  worth  and  the  kindness  of 
their  bestower. 

Genius.  A  grateful  heart  can  never  be  unrewarded : 
the  feeling  itself  is  richer  than  every  other  recompense. 

Werter.  I  feel  it  in  bidding  you  adieu,  —  an  adieu  I 
may  never  bid  another.  This  feeble,  agitated  frame,  ere 
your  successor  shall  follow  you,  may  moulder  in  the   dust. 

Genius.  It  may  be  so  :  what  is  there  permanent  here  ? 
But  why  anticipate  melancholy  contingences  alone  ?  You 
see  that  cloud  above  the  eastern  horizon,  frowning  in  its 
folds  of  obscurity?  Beams  of  bliss  may  dwell  behind 
that  frown  of  blackness,  —  the  fruition  of  those  very  joys, 
though  in  a  different  form,  which  you  say  I  have  lifted  be- 
fore you.  Ever  hope  for  the  accomplishment  of  your 
best  wishes,  and  that  hope  will  be  worth  half  their  com- 
pletion. But  remember,  child  of  sentiment  and  passion, 
that  all  the  events  of  life,  whether  they  appear  in  the 
form  of  calamity  or  of  the  fairest  fortune,  are  meant  for 
your  trial.  Have  you  received  them  as  such? — You 
have  been  tried  in  the  fire.  Have  you,  like  pure  gold, 
come  forth  even  brighter  from  the  furnace  ?  Or  like  de- 
based coin,  has  your  alloy  been  made  only  the  more  mani- 
fest?   Beware  of  cherishing  forbidden  hopes  and 


251 

wishes.  Be  neither  unjust  to  your  friends,  nor  distrust- 
ful of  Providence. 

Werter.  I  am  not  unresigned.  Though  often  I 
could  have  lain  down,  "  careless  of  the  voice  of  the  morning," 
yet  my  soul  has  invariably  trusted  in  God.  Even  now  a 
voice  is  inviting  me  away.  All  most  dear  to  me  is  gone. 
Should  I  not  exchange  this  stormy  clime  for  a  region  of 
unclouded  serenity  ?  Would  not  God  and  good  angels 
welcome  me  home  ?  Would  not  departed  friends  hail  my 
coming?  And  will  not  my  endeared,  my  ever  endeared 
Charlotte,  soon  be  my  own  sister-spirit  there  ? 

Genius.  Your  Charlotte!  —  Allow  me,  Werter,  to 
use  great  plainness  of  speech,  the  unflattering  truth  of  a 
dying  friend.  I  cannot  approve  either  your  text  or  your 
doctrine.  I  pity  your  delusion.  Have  you  trusted  in 
God,  can  you  for  a  moment  cherish  a  persuasion  so  wild, 
when  you  have  been  undermining  his  holy  institutions  1 
Because  you  love  the  wife  of  another,  and  have  more 
than  half  alienated  her  affections,  you  expect  to  be  wel- 
comed to  the  home  of  the  pure  in  heart !  Your  Char- 
lotte !  In  the  name  of  heaven,  who  is  your  Charlotte  ? 
Oh  only  the  wife  of  a  very  worthy  friend  of  yours  !  — 
Something  may  be  said,  perhaps,  in  justification  of  your 
attachment  to  Charlotte,  during  the  first  months  of  your 
acquaintance, — though  even  then  it  was  weakness  and 
infatuation  to  love  a  lady,  who  informed  you  the  very 
evening  you  first  met,  that  she  was  engaged  to  another ;  — 
but  how  can  you  justify  your  passion  after  her  marriage  ?  — 
You  speak  of  death,  too,  and  of  Charlotte's  following  you 
to  Heaven  !  Her  husband,  I  suspect,  would  not  thank 
either  you  or  her  for  any  suggestion  of  that  sort.  A 
treacherous  friend  and  a  falsehearted  wife,  however  con- 
genial they  may  be  on  earth,  do  not  appear  to  be  exactly 
prepared  to  meet  in  the  blessedness  of  immortality.  — 
Death,  I  admit,  the  death  of  the  righteous,  is  a  blessing ; 
but  you  are  revolving  within  you,  I  perceive,  something 
extremely  different,  —  and  yet  the  same.  Confess  the 
truth :  you  are  not  thinking  of  your  own  death,  but  the 
death  of  the  man  you  have  been  endeavouring  to  supplant, 
your  friend  Albert.  <  Were  Albert  to  die,'  you  are 
dreaming,  '  Charlotte  and  I  would' would  be  mar- 


252 

ried?  Is  this  the  selfishness  of  sentiment  that  enwraps 
you  ?  No  wonder  you  are  ashamed  to  express  it  in 
words. 

Werter.  It  is  but  too  true.  You  have  read  my 
inmost  emotion. 

Genius.  I  thought  so.  Now  look  yonder:  more  re- 
mains to  be  read.  Direct  your  eye  toward  the  southern 
heaven,  and  you  shall  yourself  view  your  most  secret  reve- 
ries in  the  motions  of  the  stars.  Do  you  see  that  star  of 
diminutive  lustre  ? 

Werter.  I  see  it  move,  very  swiftly  move.  It  de- 
scends ;  it  has  disappeared  beyond  the  woods,  where  the 
mountain  stream  sparkles  in  brightness,  and  whence  the 
sound  is  wafted  on  the  wind. 

Genius.  How  willingly,  in  the  same  manner,  would 
you  see  the  dim  star  of  Albert  go  down  !  — And  what  see 
you  in  the  east  ? 

Werter.  I  see  another  of  peculiar  attributes  emerg- 
ing from  the  cloud. 

Genius.  Of  more  fiery  beams,  and  moving  forward 
with  a  wild  comet-like  aspect.     It  looks  like  flame. 

Werter.  It  has  coursed  almost  half  the  firmament. 
My  God,  what  miracle  do  I  behold !  A  lovely  circlet  of 
stars,  resembling  that  beautiful  cluster  of  seven,  which  I 
saw  on  your  approach,  is  dimly  visible  in  the  south. 

Genius.     Vapours  partially  obscure  it. 

Werter.  The  cluster  and  the  flame-star  from  the 
east  are  now  meeting.  Their  lustre  revives  in  beauty. 
They  are  now  met  and  embodied.  Heaven  of  views !  O  Ge- 
nius, who  may  paint  the  more  than  magic  brilliancy  of  that 
embodied  cluster !     How  it  smiles  from  its  path  in  heaven  ! 

Genius.  Like  the  union  of  Werter,  Charlotte,  and 
family,  — is  it  not  so  1 — And  see  you  nothing  more  ? 

Werter.  I  see  many  wonderful  stars,  many  combina- 
tions, and  many  movements  ;  but  who  can  gaze  on  lesser 
glories,  when  that  superior  embodied  constellation  slowly 
moves  on  its  way  ?  O  friendly  genius,  I  forgive  your  se- 
verity.    On  a  sight  like  this  I  could  gaze  unceasing. 

Genius.  I  repeat  my  warning :  Beware  of  for- 
bidden wishes.  On  that  bewildering  vision,  I  charge 
you,  gaze  not  in  admiration  and  love.  It  is  madness  and 
crime.     Gaze  upon  the  cluster  no  more. 


253 

Werter.  I  cannot  choose  but  gaze  ;  for  see,  like  the 
gentle  lapse  of  age,  it  gradually  descends.  It  approaches 
the  wood-tops  ;  it  glows  with  augmented  splendour  ;  it  il- 
luminates the  whole  western  horizon  ;  it  sinks ;  a  luminous 
edge  trembles,  ...  is  gone  ;  but  its  pathway  of  glory  is  yet 
visible. 

Genius.  You  muse  upon  this  "  busy  motion  in  the 
heavens;"  you  dwell  upon  these  visionary  picturings  of 
your  spirit ;  and  you  languish  for  their  realization.  But, 
O  Werter,  beware !  I  am  forbidden  to  unveil  the  secrets 
of  futurity  ;  still  this,  what  your  own  conscience  has  al- 
ready spoken  to  you  in  thunder,  this  I  am  allowed  to  speak  : 
Beware  of  the  illusions  of  the  heart,  the  illu- 
sions of  unpermitted  hope,  for  they  end  in  misery 
and  death.  This  is  my  last  warning  ;  and  now  farewell 
forever. 

To  these  solemn  words  I  listened  with  almost  breathless 
eagerness ;  and  while  I  listened  to  them,  as  to  the  voice 
of  prophecy,  the  form  and  features  of  the  genius  became 
visible  in  the  clear  starlight.  A  thoughtful  sadness  rested 
on  his  brow.  A  tear  was  on  his  cheek.  He  smiled  upon 
me,  and,  like  a  meteor  of  the  sky,  faded  away  in  silence. 
At  the  same  instant  another  form  approached,  —  his  ges- 
tures wild,  his  features  half  ecstasy  and  half  distraction, 
his  garments  bathed  in  blood.  On  this  terrific  vision  I 
gazed  a  moment  with  the  intenseness  of  frenzy  ;  but  who 
can  express  my  horrour,  when  I  beheld  in  the  form  a  re- 
semblance of  myself  !  As  if  blasted  by  a  lightning- 
stroke,  I  fell  prostrate  on  the  house-top,  and  remained 
there  for  hours  insensible  as  the  dead. 

Such  was  my  Warning,  or  Reverie  of  the  closing 
Year.  Shall  I  beware  and  live  ?  Shall  I  pursue  my 
career  of  infatuation,  and  perish?  —  O  the  heaven  of  that 
embodied  cluster  !  Is  it  fatal  to  contemplate  its  loveliness  ? 
And  equally  fatal,  in  view  of  the  madness  that  possesses 
me,  is  it  to  turn  away  from  the  contemplation.  —  O 
wretched,  wretched  destiny  of  man  !  "  His  strength  fails 
him,  when  he  most  requires  its  support."  —  I  must 
depart.  —  The  wisdom  of  the  warning  Spirit  I  perceive 
22 


254 

and  acknowledge,  but,  before  the  impulses  of  unrestrained 
passion,  how  powerless  comes  the  voice  of  reason  and 
religion  !  —  I  must  depart.  — 


To  this  reverie  or  warning  of  Werter  I  may  add  a  word 
by  way  of  appendix.  So  painful  is  the  impression,  made 
by  the  delusion  of  "young  Werter,"  as  the  Germans  love 
to  call  this  character,  that  I  may  be  pardoned  for  wishing 
to  change  the  feeling,  and  to  awaken  a  more  Christian 
state  of  mind.  I  give  therefore  another  picture  of  New- 
Year  Eve. 

We  all  have  a  spark  of  the  imaginative  in  our  system. 
All  experience  something  of  reverie.  When  the  sun  is 
going  down,  and  in  the  twilight  of  a  Sabbath  evening,  how 
grateful  to  view  the  rosy  clouds  of  the  west !  and  while 
they  flow  along  the  expanse  like  waves,  to  pause  and  listen, 
as  if  we  might  actually  receive  some  breath  of  their 
murmuring  ! 

But  more  often,  like  the  enthusiast  of  nature,  so  finely 
portrayed  by  Wordsworth,  we  look  upon  their  motion  as 
without  sound  and  dreamlike ;  when  "  the  clouds  are 
touched,"  we  "  read  unutterable  love  in  their  silent  faces." 
At  moments  like  these,  how  many  associations,  hopes,  and 
remembrances  come  over  the  soul !  Some  emotions  of 
this  nature,  produced  by  a  remarkably  brilliant  sunset,  I 
once  attempted  to  embody,  and  at  the  very  time  of  my 
enjoyment  of  them. 

NEW- YEAR  EVE. 

While  waves  of  light  unmurmuring  flow 

Above  yon  golden  sphere, 
I  welcome  thee,  thou  holy  Eve, 

To  God  and  Nature  dear. 

But  lo  !  the  rainbow-waves  along 

Whose  beauteous  footsteps  glow  ? 
Who  spreads  that  robe  of  heaven  around 

Monadnoc's  mount  of  snow  ? 

Th'  Eternal  One  with  smile  of  love 

Illumes  both  mount  and  sky, 
A  gleam  of  heaven  unveiling  there 

To  man's  believing  eye. 


255 

Would  He  the  blight  of  woe  remove  ? 

Our  comforts  are  secure  : 
O  breathe  upon  our  virtues'  bloom, 

Their  bloom  to  fruit  mature. 

Still  bless  our  little  number,  Lord, 

With  mild  composure's  charm; 
Bright  faith  bestow,  celestial  beam, 

Untrembling  at  alarm. 

While  we  implore  this  light  of  life, 

To  soothe,  or  bliss  impart, 
The  healing  ray  diffuse  afar 

To  every  friendly  heart ; 

And,  as  they  view  yon  new-year  throne, 

Where  living  glories  dwell, 
Let  them,  in  sweet  communions  dream, 

With  warm  emotion  swell. 

All-hallowed  Eve  !  beloved  and  pure 

From  heaven's  ethereal  dome, 
Form  round  their  life  the  atmosphere 

Of  thine  immortal  Home. 

But  ah  !  thy  hues,  in  wayward  lapse, 

Pursue  their  parent  sphere  ! 
Farewell  to  thee,  thou  holy  Eve, 

To  God  and  Nature  dear. 

I  cannot  close  this  appendix  without  making  a  very  ob- 
vious reflection.  How  opposed  are  the  "  must  depart "  of 
this  weak  hero  of  Goethe  and  the  submission  of  a  Christ- 
ian !  The  impulse  of  the  former  is  the  madness  of  dis- 
appointment and  despair,  while  the  feeling  of  the  latter  is 
the  grateful  acknowledgment,  that  life  is  a  blessing  and 
death  is  a  gain. 

The  late  Mrs.  Grant  of  Laggan,  in  one  of  her  "  Letters 
from  the  Mountains,"  (  LVII.  )  has  weighed  the  faults  and 
the  excellences  of  this  work  with  a  delicate  hand :  I  have 
never  seen  the  fairer  and  the  more  exceptionable  view  so 
justly  exhibited. 

In  respect  to  the  developement  of  nature  and  the  finer 
feelings  of  the  heart,  Werter  is  no  doubt  a  masterly  pro- 
duction. The  truth  of  its  touches  has  been  felt  and  ac- 
knowledged, not  only  in  imaginative  Germany,  but  in  so- 
ber New  England,  and  on  the  wild  mountains  of  Ireland 
and  Scotland.  Still  I  cannot  but  agree  with  Mrs.  Grant, 
that  this  fiction  requires  to  be  read  with  a  more  discrimin- 


256 

ating  judgment,  than  the  young,  the  undisciplined,  and  the 
impassioned  usually  possess.  Too  much  of  its  spirit  re- 
sembles a  species  of  amiable  democracy,  the  independence 
and  wrongheadedness  of  inexperience.  The  pathos  and 
intellectual  power,  discovered  in  this  little  volume,  cannot 
compensate  either  for  its  want  of  principle,  or  its  most  in- 
sidious example.  The  general  tenour  of  the  book,  indeed, 
is  in  harmony  with  the  egotism,  the  reckless  selfishness, 
the  popular  spirit  of  the  age. 


MAURICE; 

OR, 

AWAY    FOR    ST.    BRANDAN'S 


CHAPTER  I. 


How  a  Bird  and  a  Boat 

By  night  came  to  me. 
"  What  said  they  ?    what  did  they  ?' 

Come,  reader,  and  see. 


Shall  I  reveal  one  of  the  foibles  or  peculiarities  of  my 
brain  ?  or,  to  borrow  the  language  of  the  fashionable  vo- 
cabulary of  the  day,  shall  I  reveal  one  of  my  idiosyncra- 
sies to  the  reader  ?  As  I  wish  to  secure  his  confidence,  it 
seems  to  be  no  more  than  discreet  to  do  so.  In  a  half- 
whisper,  then,  I  give  him  the  simple  truth  of  my  experience. 

The  fabulous  narratives,  as  they  are  called,  concerning 
the  island  of  St.  Brandan,  the  many  attempts  made  to 
reach  its  shores,  and  the  many  glimpses  that  were  believed 
to  have  been  caught  of  them,  three  hundred  years  ago, 
have  strongly  impressed  my  imagination  from  earliest 
childhood.  My  boyish  ardour  and  credulity  used  to  cause 
me  so  much  ridicule,  that  in  early  youth  I  became  less 
communicative  of  my  enthusiasm.  Still  the  same  feeling 
clung  to  me,  and,  I  never  doubted,  would  "  cling  to  me 
everlastingly."  I  seldom  failed  to  examine,  and  most  in- 
quisitively too,  every  blackletter  chronicle  of  this  optical 
illusion,  as  some  considered  it,  that  fell  in  my  way. 

One  of  the  effects  of  this  impulse,  —  as  a  clergyman 
would  say,  —  forms  the  topic  of  my  present  discourse.  It 
was  an  effect  of  such  force,  as  to  confirm  all  I  had  dream- 
22* 


258 

ed  of  St.  Brandan's,  and  to  change  the  coloring  of  my 
whole  after  life.  The  event  to  which  I  refer,  took  place 
in  the  year  1743,  —  and  in  the  nineteenth  of  my  age. 

It  was  a  late  hour  one  evening,  almost  the  very  witch- 
ing time  of  night,  when  I  was  seated  in  my  library  alone. 
I  had  just  read  over,  it  may  have  been  for  the  twentieth 
time,  an  old  account  of  the  island  of  St.  Brandan,  and  was 
now  musing  upon  the  predisposition  of  the  human  mind  to 
ndulge  in  visionary  illusions.  Nay  more,  I  exclaimed 
to  myself,  almost  before  I  well  knew  what  I  was  saying, 
"Would  to  Heaven  /could  once  view  this  island  of  mys- 
tery! what  are  all  else,  — fame,  fortune,  power,  or  even 
the  love  of  woman, — compared  with  this  image  of  the 
heart  and  imagination  !  One  glimpse  of  its  meadows  and 
mountains,  its  palaces  and  pavilions,  would  be  worth  the 
whole  world  beside  ;"  —  when,  the  moment  I  expressed 
this  feeling  and  wish,  I  heard  in  my  room  the  humming  or 
whirring  of  wings.  So  peculiar  was  the  sound,  I  was  un- 
able to  distinguish,  whether  it  most  resembled  that  of  a 
lone  humblebee  or  that  of  a  lost  hummingbird  ;  but,  my 
northern  window  being  raised  to  admit  the  fresh  breeze  of 
a  midsummer  night,  I  had  no  doubt  that  some  little  fellow 
had  mistaken  his  way,  and  I  was  on  the  point  of  rising  to 
give  him  his  freedom. 

That  instant  I  perceived  it  was  a  bird,  a  bird  too  of  the 
hummingbird  tribe,  though  I  could  not  but  observe,  when 
I  saw  him  perch  near  my  lamp,  on  the  top  edge  of  my 
writing-leaf,  that  his  feathers  had  much  of  the  downy 
softness  of  the  bee,  and  that  his  beak  was  more  blunt, 
like  that  of  the  Bobo'link.  When  he  alighted,  his  head 
happened  to  be  turned  from  me,  but  he  managed  his  tiny 
feet  with  infinite  dexterity,  to  bring  himself  round  :  and 
while  his  plumage  varied  and  flashed  in  the  light,  I  heard 
him  in  a  sort  of  recitative,  sweet  and  spiritual  as  a  voice 
from  heaven,  thus  address  me : 

"  Maurice  !  —  list  to  my  voice  !  — 
Ere  the  dawning  of  day 
For  St.  Brandan's  away; 
Life  and  death  will  await, — 
Bliss  and  bale  be  your  fate. 
Nor  by  land  nor  by   sea 
Is  your  journey  to  be. 
Then,  ere  dawning  of  day, 


259 


For  St.  Brandan's  away ; 
Since  by  rising  of  sun 
Must  the  island  be  won." 


Starting  from  my  sofa,  I  looked  and  listened  in  wonder. 
His  message  performed,  the  bird  sat  perfectly  silent,  his 
head  turned  slightly  on  one  side,  and  his  large,  dark,  mel- 
ancholy eye  intently  fastened  upon  mine. 

"  But,  my  bit  of  a  bird,"  1  exclaimed,  more  amused 
than  awed,  "  a  truce  to  your  doggerel  rhymes.  Be  less 
oracular.  Speak  the  king's  English.  It  is  not  enough  to 
summon  me  to  this  wild  enterprise  of  yours  :  you  must 
have  the  grace  to  tell  me  how  I  am  to  accomplish  it.  If  not, 
rest  assured,  long  before  dawning  of  day  I  shall  —  I  shall  —  " 

The  bird  interrupted  my  smiling  menace,  and  spoke  in 
the  same  voice  of  music  as  before : 

"  Nor  by  land  nor  by  sea 
Is  your  journey  to  be  ? 
Haste,  yon  high  bridge  ascend, 
On  its  arch  seek  a  friend ; 
For  a  friend  will  be  there 
All  your  fortunes  to  share  ; 
And  by  rising  of  sun 
Will  the  island  be  won." 

Still  incredulous,  I  moved  nearer  to  my  desk,  and  put 
out  my  hand  gently  to  secure  this  messenger  of  mystery, 
but  he  kept  hitching  and  hitching  along  his  perch,  and 
at  last,  reaching  the  extremity,  he  darted  from  the  window 
like  a  flash  of  light.  His  motion  was  too  swift  for  me  to 
see  and  follow  it :  —  he  was  there  and  was  gone. 

I  went  to  the  window,  but  neither  saw  nor  heard  any 
more  of  him.  Midnight  had  passed.  Above,  were  flash- 
ing bright  streams  of  the  Aurora  Borealis  ;  below,  silence 
brooded  over  the  Almadora,  broken  only  by  the  lulling 
music  of  a  remote  waterfall,  and  the  deeper  voice  of  the 
still  .remoter  ocean,  both  rendered  distinct  by  the  stillness, 
and  both  softened  by  distance.  It  was  the  hour  of 
universal  repose. 

What  to  make  of  this  mysterious  summoning,  I  knew 
not.  However,  leaving  my  study,  I  wandered  forth  in  a  sol- 
itary reverie,  and,  without  being  fully  aware  of  the  direction 
I  was  taking,  found  myself  on  the  loftiest  arch  of  the  bridge 
of  the  Almadora.     Much  had  I   heard  of  this  arch,  many 


260 

a  marvel,  rumour,  and  vague  surmise ;  but,  paying  no  re- 
gard to  the  superstition  of  the  vulgar,  I  had  never  visited 
the  spot  at  the  eventful  hour.     That  hour  was  now  come. 

Standing  on  the  elevated  summit,  I  leaned  over  the 
railing,  and  listened  attentively  :  save  the  sound  of  distant 
waters,  all  was  still  as  the  footstep  of  Death.  Viewing 
the  stars  in  the  river,  as  if  to  fathom  their  measureless 
depth,  I  for  some  minutes  continued  lost  in  lonely  mu- 
sing. 

Suddenly  a  strange  murmur  came  over  the  water,  — 
strange  and  indescribable.  It  impressed  me  with  an  awe 
amounting  almost  to  terrour.  I  had  often  heard  of  flocks 
of  witches,  flying  over  and  screaming  in  a  stormy  night. 
But  what  was  this?  I  stood  in  unbreathing  suspense.  A 
moment,  —  and  the  same  sound,  but  more  impressive,  was 
wafted  on  the  rising  wind.  Smothered  voices  and  min- 
gled whisperings  rose  from  beneath.  A  superstitious 
dread  crept  over  me.  A  sweep  of  other  voices  now  came 
in  the  air,  a  female  laugh  of  malice  and  triumph  ;  —  wings 
swept  by  me,  even  the  fanning  of  invisible  wings  came 
full  in  my  face.  So  completely  alive  was  I  to  these  sounds, 
that  all  perception  of  time  and  place  forsook  me.  A  mis- 
tiness pervaded  my  senses.  Aerial  forms  and  faces  float- 
ed before  me,  a  mingled  multitude  of  objects  half  distin- 
guishable. The  sounds,  the  whisperings,  the  voices,  the 
strange  shapes,  above,  below,  around,  now  met.  They 
were  at  my  very  ear. 

I  shuddered  and  sunk  down  in  a  partial  trance.  At  the 
same  moment,  half  conscious  as  I  was,  I  seemed  to  be 
lifted  far  above  the  earth  ;  and,  while  my  ear  caught  the 
music  and  humming  of  my  bird,  I  was  hurried  away  with 
inconceivable  swiftness  through  the  air  of  night. 

When  I  recovered  my  faculties,  I  found  myself  pillowed 
on  a  buoyant  cloud,  a  mystic  barge  of  vapour  I  may  call 
it,  floating  in  its  blue  flood,  far  above  the  ocean.  Morning 
dawned,  and  the  sun  approached  the  horizon.  I  never 
saw  a  more  glorious  view,  than  when  it  rose  over  the  burn- 
ing waters.  A  small  island  lay  in  full  prospect  eastward, 
and  more  luminous  than  I  am  able  to  describe:  it  looked 
like  the  phoenix  amid  the  flame  of  its  aromatic  nest.  A 
long  sweep   of   woods  and  ridges   stretched   before   me, 


261 

while  nearer,  midway  between  me  and  the  island,  the  sails 
of  a  few  fishing  craft  caught  the  living  glow. 

My  throne  of  vapour,  as  if  it  felt  the  unusual  weight,  slow- 
ly descended ;  and  the  moment  it  hovered  above  one  of 
the  swells  I  had  seen,  and  rested  upon  it,  my  glorious  pa- 
geantry all  vanished,  and  I  stood  amid  the  crags  of  an  un- 
known coast,  bleak  and  bare.  How  chill  the  feeling  that 
pervaded  me  !  — 

"  Can  this,''''  thought  I,  "  be  the  island  of  St.  Brandan  ! 
this  desolate  region  the  object  of  my  hopes  and  dreams ! 
—  I  am  the  dupe  and  victim  of  a  lying  bird," 


CHAPTER  IL 


HOW  I  REACH  AN    OLD    CASTLE,    AND    WHOSE    GUEST   I   BE- 
COME   THERE. 


Yes,  the  region  to  which  I  had  been  spirited,  was  bleak 
and  bare.  The  frosts  and  winds  of  the  north  had  stripped 
the  forest  of  leaves  and  the  earth  of  verdure,  and  all  things 
appeared  to  be  sullenly  awaiting  the  long  season  of  snow. 

I  descended  from  the  ridge,  on  which  the  cloud  had 
rested  and  vanished,  and,  through  this  scene  of  gloom  and 
discomfort,  I  went  roaming  up  and  down,  searching  for 
some  habitation  of  man.  The  day  passed  in  fruitless  wan- 
derings. But  directed  by  the  evening  beam,  wan  and 
wintry  as  it  had  become  since  morning,  I  advanced  toward 
the  only  mansion  I  had  discovered  amid  this  desolate  tract ; 
an  ancient  building,  for  the  date  "  1642"  was  discernible 
over  the  door,  engraved  in  stone,  the  material  of  which 
the  castle  was  built.  I  could  distinguish  the  characters  at 
some  distance. 

While  I  stood  contemplating  this  rude  but  venerable 
pile,  and  was  on  the  point  of  approaching  to  ask  admit- 
tance, I  saw  the  heavy  door  opened  by  a  menial,  and  soon 
after  a  female,  of  unprepossessing  features  and  appearance, 
looked  out  and  inquired  with  a  haughty  air  what  I  wanted. 
The  abruptness  of  her  inquiry,  and  the  leprous  hue  of 
her  complexion,  rather  disconcerted  me.  I  remembered 
my  flocks  of  witches,  and  thought  she  might  well  have  be- 
longed to  their  number. 

However,  truth  and  simplicity,  as  they  seldom  fail  to 
do,  prevailed.     I  briefly  acquainted  her  with  my  situation, 


263 

as  a  stranger,  and,  at  the  same  time,  asked  her  whether  I 
had  reached  the  island  of  St.  Brandan ;  "  for  that,"  I 
added,  "  is  the  grand  object  of  my  thoughts  and  research- 
es." The  moment  I  made  this  disclosure,  I  perceived, 
(  not  without  suspicion  and  alarm,)  that  a  diabolical  satis- 
faction overspread  her  countenance. 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  exulting  fiend,  "  and  you  shall 
have  the  needful  information." 

With  some  hesitation  I  followed  her  through  a  long  en- 
try, and  passed  through  a  door  terminating  it  on  the  left 
hand.  My  conductor  had  risen  from  supper,  when  she 
came  to  the  door :  she  now  replaced  herself  at  the  table, 
where  an  aged  man  was  sitting,  who  viewed  me,  as  I 
thought,  with  mingled  wonder  and  benevolence.  The 
kindness  that  spoke  in  the  tones  of  his  voice,  gave  me  as- 
surance ;  the  expression  of  his  eye  and  mouth,  even  more 
infallible  than  his  tones,  went  immediately  to  my  heart ; 
while  the  calm  dignity  of  his  manner  superadded  that 
rarest  charm  of  a  perfect  gentleman,  Christian  politeness. 
He  invited  me  to  take  a  seat  at  his  left  hand,  the  nearest 
to  his  heart,  as  he  observed  with  a  smile,  and  partake  of 
the  repast.  So  feeling  both  tired  and  hungry,  I  sat 
down. 

Pursuing  the  conversation  respecting  me,  which  the 
beldam  had  introduced,  the  old  man  spoke  thus :  "  Well 
may  you  wonder,  young  man,  at  your  miraculous  removal 
from  home ;  but  the  ways  of  Heaven  are  not  only  wonder- 
ful but  good,  and  undoubtedly  it  was  for  the  wisest  pur- 
pose.    You  are  a  believer  in  the  Christian  faith  ?" 

"  That  holy  faith,"  I  answered,  "  I  have  been  taught  to 
cherish  from  my  tenderest  years." 

"  Now  is  the  time  then,"  he  replied,  "  to  make  its 
principles  operative.  Humbly  submit  to  the  divine  will. 
Confide  in  that  paternal  Providence,  which  Christianity  so 
fully  reveals.  More  than  a  thousand  leagues  separate  you 
from  your  native  land  :  mountains  rise  and  oceans  roll  be- 
tween. This  little  island  is  not  St.  Brandan's,  but  a  mere 
gem  or  "central  boss  of  the  ocean,"  far  to  the  north.  I 
do  not  claim  it  as  my  petty  kingdom,  since  I  trust  I  am 
superior  to  all  ambition  of  that  nature,  but  I  still  exercise 


264 

over  it  no  limited  control.  I  therefore  consider  you  as  a 
stranger  sent  me  by  the  Supreme  Disposer,  and  perhaps 
for  the  accomplishment  of  some  event  as  yet  unknown.  I 
suspect  you  have  an  enemy,  and  perhaps  more  than  one. 
At  any  rate,  I  feel  it  to  be  my  duty  and  pleasure  to  pro- 
tect you.  Will  you  live  with  me,  an  inmate  of  the 
castle  ?" 

"  Most  excellent  of  men,"  I  exclaimed,  "  how  can  I 
show  gratitude  equal  to  such  goodness !  Next  to  my 
God,  I  esteem  you  the  preserver  of  my  life.  I  am  not 
conscious  of  meriting  the  enmity  of  any  one.  But  how- 
ever this  may  be,  until  the  mystery  of  last  night's  removal 
shall  be  unravelled,  I  shall  rejoice  to  remain  with  you, 
provided  I  can  be,  in  some  measure,  even  in  the  smallest 
degree,  useful." 

"Agreed,"  my  kind  host  replied.  "  You  see  that  I 
am  old.  Your  company  is  what  I  most  want.  Your 
young  face  and  beaming  eyes  recall  the  days  of  my  youth, 
those  joyous  days  never  to  return.  Still  remembrance 
gives  me  a  shadow  of  former  joy,  and  this  remembrance 
you  will  keep  alive  in  me.  Remain  with  me,  young 
stranger :  I  am  much  prepossessed  in  your  favour,  —  much 
interested  in  your  welfare.  You  long,  it  appears,  to  visit 
St.  Brandan's.  I  cannot  disapprove  your  desire,  a  wild 
whim,  a  midsummer  night's  wish,  as  I  am  compelled  to 
view  it.  The  island  is  a  glorious  island ;  and  hereafter, 
much  sooner,  it  may  be,  than  you  imagine,  we  may  pay  it 
a  visit  together.  Meanwhile,  this  solitude  of  the  castle,  as 
I  hope,  will  not  prove  oppressive  to  you." 

Several  days  fled  swiftly  away,  and  each  returning  hour 
gave  me  renewed  instances  of  Simplicio's  worth.  His 
whole  soul  spoke  in  his  countenance,  the  fresh  countenance 
of  vigorous  age.  Never  had  I  known  a  more  powerful 
intellect  or  a  more  affectionate  heart.  I  revered  him  as 
a  superior  being,  while  I  loved  him  with  the  tenderness 
of  a  son ;  and  I  felt  that  he  deserved  more  veneration,  and 
more  warmth  of  attachment,  than  it  was  in  my  power,  or 
in  the  power  of  any  one,  to  give  him.  Not  so  Maduba, 
—  not  so  that  fury  of  a  woman,  to  whom  he  had  committed 
the  management  of  his  household  affairs      The  attentions 


265 

he  paid  me,  excited  her  envy  and  rancour.  The  littleness 
of  her  soul  made  her  too  suspicious  to  have  peace  herself, 
or  let  others  have  it.  I  sometimes  said  to  myself,  with 
a  sort  of  instinctive  antipathy  :  "  Is  not  this  my  enemy  ? 
Is  not  my  enemy  here,  manifested  in  the  person  of  Madu- 
ba  ?  I  feel  the  presence  of  evil,  whenever  she  comes  into 
the  room,  even  before  I  see  her  face  or  hear  her  voice." 


23 


CHAPTER    III 


WHO  COMES  TO  THE  CASTLE,  AND  WHAT  MY  BIRD 

BRINGS  ME. 


On  entering  the  parlour  one  afternoon,  ten  or  twelve 
days  after  my  arrival,  I  was  surprised  to  find  there  a  beau- 
tiful girl  apparently  about  sixteen.  She  was  rather  below 
the  middle  stature,  and  of  a  delicately  proportioned  form. 
The  expression  of  her  face  was  intellectual,  —  more  intel- 
lectual, indeed,  than  I  had  imagined  ever  to  exist  in  our 
imperfect  nature.  So  far  did  she  seem  from  being  made 
to  die,  that  she  appeared  to  have  already  become  immortal. 
I  speak  not  of  the  fine  Spanish  outline  of  her  counte- 
nance, the  vermilion  of  her  cheek,  the  languishing  yet 
vivid  lustre  of  her  eye,  or  the  air  of  melancholy  sweetness 
that  pervaded  her  like  an  atmosphere  ;  for  there  was 
something  from  within,  a  spiritual  manifestation,  surpassing 
form,  features,  and  complexion,  that  awakened  in  my  heart 
an  emotion  I  cannot  express.  The  emotion  was  instanta- 
neous. Call  it  not  love,  for  love  it  assuredly  was  not.  It 
was  a  feeling  of  delightful  surprise,  —  an  impression,  if 
the  reader  will  forgive  a  comparison  so  fanciful,  most  like 
that  produced  by  an  orange  grove  in  blossom,  unexpectedly 
revealed  by  lightning  in  a  dark  night. 

The  same  moment  I  entered  the  room,  Maduba  came  in 
at  the  opposite  door.  She  introduced  the  fair  girl  as 
Donna  Eumela  D'Almanza,  the  only  daughter  of  her  late 
husband,  a  gentleman  from  St.  Brandan's,  and  the  very 
particular  friend  and  favourite  of  the  lord  of  the  Castle. 
At  Simplicio's  desire,  his  pressing  invitation  I  ought  to  call 


267 

it,  she  had  left  the  hamlet  on  the  south-eastern  verge  of 
the  island,  and  had  come  to  pass  a  few  weeks  at  the  Castle. 
Her  father,  too  well  knowing  the  character  of  his  wife, 
had  committed  both  her  and  half  his  property  to  the  care 
of  Simplicio ;  and  this  most  affectionate  of  guardians, 
whom  she  loved  like  another  parent,  would  have  rejoiced 
to  welcome  her  to  the  Castle  as  her  future  home.  But 
much  as  she  was  attached  to  her  guardian,  this  was  impos- 
sible, for  the  ill-nature  and  aversion  of  her  step-mother 
were  beyond  endurance.  She  therefore  continued  to  re- 
side at  the  princely  mansion-house,  bequeathed  to  her  by 
her  father. 

"  A  gentleman  from  St.  Brandan's  !  "  I  exclaimed  to 
myself,  as  the  words  penetrated  me  like  a  voice  from  the 
stars.  "  Blessed  be  God  !  "  I  added,  "  daybreak  is  near, 
the  dawn  of  hope." 

I  soon  perceived  that  Maduba,  conscious  of  her  power, 
and  delighting  in  domestic  tyranny,  treated  Eumela  with  a 
degree  of  ill  nature,  which  increased  my  already  confirmed 
abhorrence.  In  the  absence  of  Simplicio,  her  petty  ven- 
geance was  exercised  in  ways  innumerable.  Under  pre- 
tence of  rendering  domestic  duties  familiar,  she  imposed 
upon  her  some  of  the  menial  offices  of  the  establishment. 
"  Child,"  said  she  a  few  mornings  afterward,  "  you  have 
spread  this  table-cloth  wrong  again.  Do  you  not  see  it  is 
all  awry  ?  Shall  I  never  teach  you  any  thing  ?  And  this 
coffee-cup  too  !  — Did  I  not  tell  you,  no  longer  ago  than 
yesterday  morning,  never  to  put  the  cup  with  this  figure  in 
my  saucer  again  ?  I  hate  the  very  sight  of  it.  The 
humming-bird  figure  is  for  your  guardian  :— you  certainly 
need  a  guardian.  He  seems  strangely  attached  to  that 
bird.  Will  you  never  learn  to  remember  ?  Where  were 
your  thoughts  wandering  ?  Oh  I  dare  say  Maurice,  that 
curl-pated  student  you  think  so  handsome,  was  occupying 
your  reflections.  1  wonder  at  men's  whimsies.  What 
do  we  want  of  that  stranger  youth  !  Let  him  go  to  St. 
Brandan's,  if  he  will.  Because  he  dropped  among  us  from 
the  clouds,  are  we  bound  to  maintain  him,  and  give  him  the 
rich  suits  of  a  young  knight  of  Spain,  with  sword  and 
plumes  !     It  is  really  too  ridiculous.     I  shall  speak  to  that 


268 

dear  guardian  of  yours  on  this  subject ;  and  as  for  you,  it 
will  be  well  to  mind  what  you  are  doing." 

Though  I  was  at  a  considerable  distance,  looking  out  at 
the  door  I  first  entered,  and  comparing  my  fate  with  the 
dreary  withered  prospect  presented ;  and  though  the  sor- 
ceress uttered  most  of  her  tirade  in  a  muttering  voice,  I 
could  hear  all  that  passed. 

Of  my  "  silent  rages "  I  say  nothing.  Eumela  made 
no  reply  ;  but,  as  I  entered  to  breakfast,  her  tear  of  wound- 
ed pride  spoke  volumes  in  her  favour  :  it  went  to  my  heart. 

I  now  had  a  lovely  and  intelligent  individual,  with  whom 
I  could  freely  converse  ;  and  the  moments  that  I  enjoyed 
in  the  company  of  Eumela,  more  than  made  up  for  what 
I  suffered  from  our  malicious  tormenter.  The  solitude  of 
the  Castle  brought  us  much  together,  and  we  soon  became 
as  intimate  as  brother  and  sister. 

Eumela  was  by  no  means  forever  grave,  though,  owing  to 
the  circumstances  of  her  fate  and  the  intellectual  cast  of  her 
character,  she  was  more  thoughtful  and  less  volatile  than 
many  girls  of  her  age.  When  she  uttered  some  ennobling 
sentiment,  or  detailed  her  thousand  reminiscences  of  St. 
Brandan's,  her  features  exhibited  the  glow  of  genius ;  or 
when  more  mirthfully  disposed,  she  was  full  of  life  and  el- 
oquent vivacity. 

It  was  now  that  season,  in  this  high  northern  latitude, 
when  cold  blasts  were  sweeping  through  the  woods,  wild 
geese  were  flying  over  to  a  warmer  climate,  and  when 
bare  crags  and  rocky  ridges  presented  a  cheerless,  uncom- 
fortable prospect.  But  whenever  opportunity  allowed, 
we  wandered  over  the  desert  scene  with  hearts  of  joy. 
The  woods  budded,  the  wild  water-fowl  made  a  pleasant 
music,  and  the  mighty  masses  of  rock  melf  '  before  the 
voice  of  love.  O  what  cannot  love,  ci.ei  ed  and 
strengthened  by  mutual  passion,  perform  !  i  he  desert 
smiles,  and  the  wilderness  blossoms  like  the  rose.  This 
sentiment,  whatever  it  might  have  been  at  our  first  inter- 
view, I  now  felt  in  the  innermost  recesses  of  my  being. 
This  was  love. 

What  moments  of  delight  were  these  !  But,  alas,  how 
brief!  One  little  month  had  scarcely  gone,  ere  the  ma- 
lign spirit  of  Maduba  compelled  Eumela  to  leave  us,  and 


269 

return  to  the  village  where  her  father  had  lived  and  died. 
I  was  extremely  depressed  on  her  departure,  —  more  mel- 
ancholy, indeed,  than  I  could  have  imagined ;  but  she  was 

"  A  spot  of  azure  in  a  cloudy  sky," 

and  no  one  loves  to  be  forever  shut  out  from  the  fair  face 
of  heaven. 

I  promised  to  visit  Eumela  soon,  and  named  the  day, — 
but  how  the  hours  lingered  after  her  departure !  They 
were  lengthened  to  ages.  Again  I  seemed  to  stand  alone 
amid  the  wilderness.  Sleeping  or  waking,  I  thought  of 
nothing  but  Eumela.  I  conversed  with  Simplicio  respect- 
ing the  island,  which  had  so  excited  and  seized  my  im- 
agination, read  to  him,  recited  to  him,  aided  him  in  ar- 
ranging his  manuscripts,  listened  to  his  reading  one  of  them 
on  the  secret  powers  of  nature,  and  wandered  in  the  wood- 
lands ;  but  neither  book,  business,  ramble,  nor  Simplicio 
afforded  much  amusement.  My  spirit  was  pre-occupied  ;  no 
effort  of  my  will  could  withdraw  it  from  the  absent ;  the 
charm  of  my  island  life  was  no  more. 

Taking  a  book  on  the  second  morning,  with  a  view  to 
escape  from  the  hateful  visage  of  Maduba,  I  entered  the 
forest,  in  which  the  castle  was  to  the  west,  north,  and  east 
imbosomed,  and  leaned  in  a  reverie  against  the  sunny  side 
of  an  aged  oak.  It  was  the  most  grateful  of  reveries,  for 
views  of  magic  illusion,  day-dreams  of  that  dear  isle  of  St. 
Brandan  I  was  still  longing  to  reach,  and  visions  of  Eume- 
la hovered  around  me. 

While  I  was  thus  roaming  the  region  of  soft  shadows 
and  sweet  delusions,  I  heard  overhead  a  familiar  humming. 
I  looked  up.  The  same  Bird  that  entered  my  study,  and 
whose  pr*  ^  of  St.  Brandan's  inspired  me  with  so 
much  of  ^ne  and  doubt,  was  hovering  in  the  air,  and 
holding  in  Ins  little  claws  a  large  oak  leaf  by  the  stem. 
Suddenly  he  dropped  it  upon  the  open  volume  I  had  been 
reading,  and  began  to  shoot  from  side  to  side,  as  if  he 
were  preparing  to  depart.  That  moment  I  remembered 
his  falsehood,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  Ah  !  my  lying  little  Jockey  !  is  it  you  ?  Well  met. 
You  are  the  imp,  that  came  to  spirit  me  from  the  Almado- 
23* 


270 

ra,  and  to  land  me  upon  this  wild  coast  of  the  north. 
Where  is  your  promise?  And  where,  in  the  name  of 
Heaven,  is  St.  Brandan's  ?  " 

The  Bird  settled  upon  a  twig  above,  and  while  hitching 
about  to  adjust  himself,  and  ruffling  his  feathers  in  wrath, 
he  made  answer  in  his  old  way  : 

"  Cease  :  my  promise  is  true, 
You've  St.  Brandan's  in  view. 
Nor  by  land  nor  by  sea 
Was  your  journey  to  be  : 
You  the  bridge  sought  by  night,  — 
Found  a  friend  on  its  height ; 
For  your  birdlet  was  there, 
All  your  fortunes  to  share. 
Then  believe  me,  my  friend, 
All  your  steps  I  attend  : 
Never,  never  deny, 
That  truehearted  am  T. 
Ah,  then  blame  me  no  more, 
That  we  touched  this  wild  shore  ; 
For  truth,  beauty,  and  love 
Here  their  influence  must  prove  ; 
While  hate,  baseness,  and  crime 
&U    Must  triumph  —  their  time. 
^Danger,  death  must  impend, 
Still  confide  to  the  end. 
Then,  ere  dawning  of  day, 
For  St.  Brandan's  away  : 
All  you  love  shall  be  there 
Your  strange  fortunes  to  share. 

"  Now  read  me  your  leaf, 

Nor  be  too  much  elate  ; 
Weal  and  woe  are  appointed, 

That  leaf  is  your  fate." 

I  took  up  the  leaf.  Its  form  and  beauty  were  striking. 
Examining  it  more  attentively,  and  lifting  it  between  me 
and  the  sun,  I  perceived  that  its  texture  was  eaten  through 
and  through,  so  as  to  form  a  network  of  regular  lines. 
But  on  closer  inspection,  my  wonder  and  surprise  grew 
into  amazement;  for  it  was  a  song,  four  little  verses  were 
legible,  though  in  characters  of  so  singular  a  formation,  as 
to  make  them  somewhat  difficult  to  read.  The  lines  ap- 
peared to  have  an  ominous  import,  which  made  me  almost 
tremble  while  I  read  them.  They  were  entitled  the 
Hunter's  Dream. 


271 


Over  mountain  and  moorland 

I  follow  the  hare, 
By  brooklet's  green  border 

Then  sweetly  sleep  there. 

There  wild  music  warbles 
The  wood-tops  above ; 

I  dream  of  Eumela, 
The  maid  whom  I  love. 

Enthroned  on  a  rose- cloud, 
The  rainbow  her  robe, 

This  beautiful  vision 
Descends  to  the  globe. 

I  leap  from  my  grass-bed, 
Love-raptures  to  share ; 

But  she  melts  in  the  sunbeam, 
And  mingles  with  air. 


When  I  raised  my  eyes  toward  my  little  friend,  to  gain 
the  light  I  wished, — some  elucidation  of  his  oracular  leaf, 
—  I  saw  nothing  but  his  twig  remaining:  this  was  gently 
swayed  by  the  breeze,  —  or  the  motion,  it  may  be,  was 
the  impulse  given  by  his  flight,  —  but  the  bird  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


I  EXCHANGE  THE  LEAE  OF  MY  BIRD  EOR  A  BALLAD  OE 
ST.  BR  AND  AIT'S. 


Two  days  before  the  time  appointed,  I  set  out  for  the 
home  of  my  friend.  The  village  was  some  miles  distant. 
What  feelings  our  meeting  awakened,  I  need  not  say. 
The  dear  undissembling  girl,  in  the  plain  and  holy  inno- 
cence of  her  character,  welcomed  me  with  every  maidenly 
demonstration  of  joy. 

Our  conversation  for  a  while  turned  upon  Maduba. 
Eumela  pictured  her  in  true  colours. 

"  The  simplest  expressions,"  she  said,  "  I  find  to  be  the 
strongest,  and  therefore  I  call  her  a  bad  woman.  My 
aversion  was  altogether  involuntary ;  I  struggled  hard 
to  subdue  it,  —  to  repress  the  rebel  feeling,  —  not 
only  out  of  regard  for  the  memory  of  my  father,  but  to 
show  respect  and  gratitude  for  his  revered  friend.  Still  it 
was  impossible.  My  very  nature  revolted  at  the  effort. 
So  settled  was  my  antipathy,  you  could  not  but  observe  it, 
—  you  could  not  but  observe,  how  at  table  I  instinctively 
averted  my  face  from  her,  as  from  odious  deformity.  I 
am  not  alone.  In  this  vicinity  her  character  is  so  well 
understood,  that  I  have  seen  ill-mannered  boys  hoot  after 
her  in  the  street.  I  could  not  endure  the  sight  of  her 
myself.  Her  features  were  moulded  by  the  demon  within  ; 
and  when  the  voice  of  that  demon  breathed  from  her  lips, 
breathed  its  breath  of  venom,  I  could  make  little  reply 
beyond  a  stifled  groan.  This  antipathy  of  mine,  which  I 
rather  acknowledge  to  be  a  weakness  than  attempt  to  justi- 


273 

fy,  made  her  my  inveterate  foe.  You  partially  know  the 
consequences  :  I  know  them  but  partially  myself.  I  made 
this  last  visit  with  extreme  reluctance,  and  I  have  resolved 
never  to  subject  myself  to  such  indignities  again." 

"  But  Providence,"  I  interposed,  "  even  from  this  dark 
hour  of  trial  has  caused  the  dayspring  of  our  affections  to 
arise." 

"  Yes,  Maurice,"  she  replied  with  a  glow  of  devotion, 
"  and  never  may  we  distrust  its  wisdom  and  goodness. 
Were  it  not  for  the  unhappy  spirit  of  Maduba, —  pray 
excuse  my  not  calling  her  mother,  for  I  would  not  profane 
so  dear  a  name,  —  I  might  live  very  pleasantly  at  the 
Castle.  I  know  this  to  be  the  strong  desire  of  my  guar- 
dian, but  I  at  the  same  time  know,  that  every  new  visit  I 
make,  more  and  more  convinces  him  of  its  impossibility. 
Too  well  do  I  feel  assured  of  this  in  my  own  case. 

"  After  the  death  of  my  mother,  seven  years  ago,  my 
father  came  to  this  island  with  a  view  to  being  near  his 
friend,  and  to  soften  the  severity  of  his  loss  by  change  of 
scene.  Here  he  continued  to  reside,  from  year  to  year, 
the  possessor  of  great  wealth  and  still  more  rich  in  the 
treasures  of  his  mind,  peaceful  and  beloved  at  home,  hon- 
oured and  respected  abroad,  until  in  an  evil  hour  he  was 
drawn,  as  if  by  some  infatuation,  into  his  second  marriage. 
We  read  much  concerning  attachments  and  unions  like 
this,  and  we  sometimes  witness  them  in  real  life,  but  to  me 
they  always  appear  mysterious  and  unnatural.  Over  this 
event,  so  fatal  to  the  hopes  and  peace  of  my  father,  you 
will  permit  me  to  draw  a  veil.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that 
he  was  miserable,  and  that  he  died  within  less  than  a  year. 

"  Left  an  orphan,  or  in  circumstances  still  more  painful, 
on  the  removal  of  my  parent,  I  have,  from  that  time,  now 
almost  eleven  months,  lived  in  my  present  seclusion.  With 
the  exception  of  my  visits  to  the  castle,  which  have  been 
few  and  brief,  I  have  occupied  this  mansion  on  the  sea 
shore,  the  bequest  of  my  father.  I  have  enjoyed  its  bles- 
sed quietness,  but  I  am  confident,  from  some  hints  and 
whispers  of  Maduba,  that  it  will  not  be  of  long  continu- 
ance. Time  will  show,  perhaps  in  characters  of  blood. 
What  have  we  not  both  to  fear !  —  O  that  my  father  had 
never  seen  this  Maduba  !  —  Why  did  he  remove  from  St. 


274 

Brandan's,  the  beloved  island  of  home !  shall  I  ever  re- 
visit those  scenes  of  my  heart  ?  O  that  we  might  visit 
them  together,  and  never,  never  leave  them! — This  cold 
region  of  the  north,  this  region  of  sordid  selfishness, — 
have  we  no  means  of  escape  from  it  ?  escape  to  the  land 
of  the  heart,  the  dear  sunny  south  ?  " 

I  endeavored  to  soothe  the  fears  of  a  too  sensitive  mind, 
and  to  inspire  it  with  brighter  hopes.  I  retold,  perhaps 
for  the  fiftieth  time,  the  marvels  of  my  own  history.  Bird 
and  boat,  the  voyage  of  this,  and  the  promises  of  that,  all 
my  adventures  passed  in  review,  and  sweet  St.  Brandan's 
formed  the  chorus  of  every  song.  My  soothings  were  not 
in  vain.  Whatever  hope  rose  upon  myself  seemed  to 
shed  a  fairer  light  and  a  more  inspiring  warmth  upon  her. 
What  an  evening  we  enjoyed  ! 

I  gave  Eumela  the  Sybilline  leaf  as  a  curiosity.  She 
was  gratified,  though  the  strangeness  of  its  origin,  and  its 
somewhat  alarming  import,  baffled  her  power  of  interpre- 
tation, as  well  as  my  own.  But  striving  to  banish  the 
thought  of  evils,  that  might  never  come,  she  adapted  the 
verses  to  the  air,  "Mia  cava  Dorinda"  and,  gently  touch- 
ing her  guitar,  sung  them  to  me  with  the  warblings  of  a 
Seraph.  We  bade  welcome  the  promises  of  hope,  the 
sunshiny  landscapes  of  truehearted  affection  ;  and  as  she 
had  once  promised  to  do,  she  recited  to  me  the  following 
simple  Ballad,  descriptive,  as  she  told  me,  of  the  fortunes 
of  her  only  brother,  now  no  more. 

GERALDINE  OF  ST.   BRANDAN'S. 

Who  does  not  wild  St.  Brandan's  love, 
Where  foams  the  ocean  spraj  ? 
There  roamed  the  lovely  Geraldine, 
The  rival  form  of  May. 

Scarce  fourteen  smiling  summer  years 
Their  charm  of  love  had  shed  ; 
Her  skin  was  white  as  mountain  snow, 
Soft- touched  with  heauty's  red. 

Her  eyes  with  angel  sweetness  beamed, 
Her  lips  with  roses  glowed, 
Her  soul  awoke  the  stealing  blush, 
That  gently  ebbed  and  flowed. 


275 

Charles  saw  this  lovely  ocean-girl, 
As  o'er  the  beach  she  strayed  ; 
His  guardian  angel  whispered  him 
To  win  this  beauteous  maid. 

He  saw  her  blush,  —  her  parting  tear,  — 
He  saw  affection's  smile  ;  — 
"  What  if  she  be  an  opening  bud, 
Can  I  not  wait  a  while  ? 

"  Yes,  guardian  spirits  guard  my  girl, 
This  loveliest  maid  of  mine  ; 
For  when  three  years  are  overpassed, 
I'll  wed  my  Geraldine." 

"Pardon  my  interruption,  Eumela,"  I  here  observed, 
"  but  I  am  rather  inquisitive  to  know  who  composed  these 
stanzas." 

"  I  have  reason  to  suspect,"  Eumela  answered,  "  that  it 
was  my  brother  himself.  He  was  little  accustomed  to 
poetical  composition,  as  the  ballad  itself  shows  ;  and  in  two  or 
three  of  the  verses,  he  adopted  some  images  and  expres- 
sions from  an  old  sea-song,  which  I  often  heard  him 
repeat." 

"Thank  you,  and  now  I  am  impatient  for  the  sequel. 
They  were  true  lovers,  I  hope  ? " 

"  You  shall  hear." 

Eumela  then  went  on  with  her  recital. 

Now  three  long  years  had  lingering  passed, 
Since  Charles  to  India  sailed, 
And  Geraldine  with  tears  of  love 
His  absence  yet  bewailed. 

No  white  sail  gleamed  from  ocean  view, 
But  she  wished  her  wanderer  there  ; 
And  gazing  o'er  the  moonlight  wave, 
She  watched  with  sleepless  care. 

Said  she,  "  tho'  men  forever  blame, 
And  woman  call  untrue, 
My  soul  disdains  the  heartless  thought, 
Dear  Charles,  for  love  of  you  : 

"  You  first  my  little  bosom  warmed, 
When  I  was  young  and  small; 
And  tho'  shame  stopt  my  faltering  voice, 
My  smile  confessed  it  all." 

One  midnight  rose  a  summer  storm, 
And  sweeping  whirlwinds  howled, 
And  lightning  streamed  athwarthe   Deep, 
While  mountain  billows  rolled. t 


276 

Then  Geraldine  her  couch  forsook, 
And  sought  the  foamy  shore, 
For  signal-guns  were  mingled  oft 
With  thunder's  dreadful  roar. 

Whene'er  the  sea  was  wrapt  in  flame, 
A  tall  ship  loomed  in  view, 
Now  tost  to  heaven,  now  plunged  again. 
As  whelming  waves  pursue. 

But  soon  she  saw  her  plough  the  shoals, 
Her  masts  go  by  the  board  ; 
She  saw  their  crowded  long-boat  sink, — 
Then  surges  o'er  them  roared. 

A  heart-sick  faintness  seized  her  frame, 
She  shuddered,  every  limb  : — 
'•  O  if  my  Charles  should  perish  there, — 
Mast  I  not  follow  him  !" 

Deep  moans  of  death  came  o'er  the  surf, 
When  land  they  strove  to  reach, 
And  many  a  well-known  mariner 
Dashed  lifeless  on  the  beach. 

This  ever-faithful  maiden  viewed 
The  living  and  the  drowned, — 
She  moved  aside  their  heavy  locks, 
But  Charles  could  not  be  found. 

"  O  farewell,  farewell,  worthless  life, — 
Welcome  my  watery  grave  ;  — 
I  come,  my  best-beloved,  wait,"  — 
She  leapt  amid  the  wave. 

That  moment  Charles  from  a  sea-top 
This  storm-beat  lily  caught ; 
And  tho'  o*erspent,  he  safe  on  shore 
The  beauteous  flowret  brought. 

"  All-gracious  Heaven  !  —  my  Geraldine  ' 
Did  you  my  death  deplore  ? 
My  ever-dear,  true-hearted  girl, 
We  meet  to  part  no  more." 

Now  dawn  o'er  wild  St.  Brandan's  broke, 
Retired  the  roaring  flood  ; 
And,  looming  o'er  the  shallows  high, 
The  Belladonna  stood. 

Enriched  with  India's  freighted  wealth, 
Charles  wed  his  love  sincere  ; 
Now  when  "  a  storm  howls  round  his  home," 
He  thinks  her  doubly  dear. 

This  ballad  was  too  long  to  be  sung,  but  the  recitation  af- 
forded us  opportunity  of  speaking  of  our  own  hopes  and  fears. 


277 

Our  sympathy  of  feeling  was  perfect,  and  our  interchange 
of  whatever  most  interested  our  hearts,  was  protracted  to 
a  late  hour.  I  then  hastened  back  to  the  Castle  with  a 
mixed  feeling  of  gratitude  and  grief;  grateful  that  I  pos- 
sessed so  deserving  an  object  of  affection,  and  grieved  that 
she  was  so  peculiarly  situated.  Musing  on  some  means  of 
softening  the  severity  of  her  vexation  and  alarm,  and  if 
possible  of  inducing  Simplicio  to  take  us  both  to  St.  Bran- 
dan's, —  I  entered  my  forest  home,  whose  inhabitants  were 
sunk  in  sleep,  and  in  my  half-melancholy  mood  laid  myself 
down  to  repose. 

But  it  was  long  before  I  fell  asleep.  The  strange  events 
of  the  past,  the  dim  perils  of  the  present,  the  hopes  and 
fears  of  the  future,  all  kept  floating  before  me.  At  length 
a  low  murmuring,  like  the  wings  and  voice  of  a  spirit, 
lulled  me  to  sleep.  Was  it  the  busy  kindness  of  my  Bird  ? 
Beyond  all  doubt  it  was  he,  for  the  words, 

"  Softly  sink  to  repose," 

more   than   once   came  faintly  to  my  ear ;    and  still  more 
faintly  was  the  warning, 

"  Soon  the  shadow  of  woes," 

mingled  with  my  last  waking  emotion 


24 


CHAPTEE  V. 


MISCHIEF  BREWING  AT  HOME,  AND  A  SNOW-STORM  ABROAD. 


Next  morning  Maduba  viewed  me  with  suspicion,  — call 
it  rather  the  serpent  eye  of  hatred,  —  but  the  unfeigned 
smile  of  Simplicio  made  ample  amends.  In  the  manner 
of  the  former,  however,  there  appeared  to  be  a  malicious 
satisfaction,  which  gave  me  no  small  uneasiness.  The 
disclosure,  on  her  part,  of  what  was  passing  within,  was 
doubtless  involuntary ;  and  the  discovery,  on  mine,  of  the 
state  of  her  soul,  was  that  mysterious  gift  of  God,  which  I 
am  accustomed  to  call  the  intuition  of  the  spirit.  Sensible 
of  the  depravity  of  her  heart,  and  dreading  what  might  be 
the  event  of  the  whispers  and  hints,  to  which  Eumela  had 
alluded,  I  shuddered  for  the  fate  of  the  dear  devoted 
orphan. 

A  circumstance  occurred  too  this  morning,  which  height- 
ened my  anxiety.  I  was  thoughtfully  seated  in  a  cham- 
ber contiguous  to  that  of  Maduba,  to  which  I  had  some- 
times repaired  for  the  benefit  of  light,  and  where  Simplicio 
sometimes  joined  me.  It  was  not  long  before  he  came  in, 
and  directed  my  attention  to  the  state  of  the  air  abroad.  I 
rose  and  went  to  the  window.  We  stood  with  our  faces 
toward  the  south.  A  disastrous  twilight,  shedding  a 
strange  obscurity  upon  the  crags  and  cliffs  before  us,  was 
the  first  thing  that  met  the  eye.  We  looked  further,  and 
lo !  on  our  left  hand  we  saw  the  sun,  and  a  mighty  circle 
surrounding  it,  that  reached  from  mid-heaven  even  below 
the  horizon.     The  hazy  firmament  rendered  this  immense 


279 

halo  unusually  distinct.  As  we  stood  gazing,  the  spectacle 
assumed  a  changeful  aspect:  the  vision  now  exhibited  the 
gloomy  grandeur  of  a  total  eclipse,  and  then  again  the 
brightening  flashes  of  the  northern  lights.  The  electric 
waves,  as  they  swept  over  the  miraculous  wheel,  seemed 
at  one  moment  to  have  all  faded  from  the  sky,  and  the 
very  next  to  be  all  alive  with  the  hues  of  heaven.    . 

"  What  do  you  read  thefe,  Maurice  ?"  Simplico  asked 
me  with  a  stern  smile. 

"  I  am  little  acquainted  with  this  climate,"  I  answered, 
"  but  in  my  own  I  should  consider  such  commotion  and 
such  meteors  in  the  sky,  the  sure  presages  of  a  winter 
storm." 

"  Such  a  storm,"  he  replied,  "  is  probably  coming  here; 
but,  believe  me,  there  is  more  mischief  in  the  wind  than 
that." 

Scarcely  had  he  spoken  these  words,  when  we  heard 
steps  ascending  the  stairs,  and  distinguished  the  voices  of 
two  persons,  as  they  entered  the  adjoining  apartment. 
Some  fragments  of  their  smothered  whispers  now  reached 
us. 

"  Is  it  mutual  ?  "  said  an  unknown  voice  in  a  tone  of  ser- 
vility. 

"  No  doubt, — convinced  it  is  immovable,"  —  answered 
another,  which  we  knew  to  be  that  of  Maduba. 

"  I  expected  as  much,"  said  the  unknown.  "A  stop 
must  be  effected  —  a  removal  —  for  both  our  safeties  ; 
yet  I  know  not  the  means." 

"  Means  !  "  exclaimed  Maduba  :  "I  am  resolved.  Let 
that  suffice.  Our  interest,  our  fears,  our  revenge  shall 
teach  us  the  means.  Who  will,  who  can  oppose  us  ? 
There  are  no  means  I  hesitate  to  employ.  I  hate  them 
both.     I  abhor  the  very  ground  on  which  they  tread." 

"Still  be  discreet,"  interposed  the  unknown.  "  I  am 
as  unscrupulous  as  yourself,  but  remember  Simplicio.  Per- 
haps it  is  the  mere  instinctive  terror  of  retributive  justice, 
yet  I  cannot  banish  the  suspicion,  that  our  fate  is  connected 
with  these  individuals.  Such  has  all  along  been  my  read- 
ing of  our  charm.  To  prevent  the  arrival  of  this  stranger, 
what  would  I  not  have  done  !  Nay,  what  did  we  not  both 
dare  attempt  that  night !    But,  owing  to  that  accursed  Bird, 


280 

we  failed.  The  enemy  is  here.  Did  we  not  see  him  de- 
scend as  on  a  throne  of  triumph  and  glory  ?  And  now  the 
two  persons  in  the  world,  whose  union  we  have  the  strong- 
est reason  to  dread,  are  the  two  happiest  lovers  on  earth. 
In  all  this,  you  cannot  fail  to  discover  the  hand  of  Simpli- 
cio.    Were  it  not  for  him  and  his  Bird " 

"  I  know  his  power  and  his  goodness,"  replied  Maduba, 
"  and  my  spirit  trembles  before  them.  But  I  apprehend 
no  interference  from  him.  He  is  more  devoted  to  specu- 
lative science  than  to  active  exertion.  I  have  a  plan,  a 
conspiracy,  if  you  will,  which  gives  me  promise  of  success. 
It  struck  me  the  very  moment  the  stranger  entered  the 
Castle.  Listen,  and  let  us  mature  it  in  the  very  secrecy  of 
our  souls.    This  night" — 

"  This  night!"  said  I,  echoing  the  words,  ere  I  was 
aware  ;  and  eager  as  well  to  detect  their  malice,  as  to  free 
my  mind  from  the  horrors  of  suspense,  I  pressed  nearer  to 
the  partition  ;  but  the  words  I  repeated,  and  the  noise  I 
made,  slight  as  it  was,  seemed  to  put  them  on  their  guard. 

Silence  ensued,  and  we  heard  no  more.  My  God !  had 
we  not  heard  enough?  Simplicio smiled,  —  there  was  awful 
meaning  in  his  smile,  —  bade  me,  thus  forewarned,  be  wise 
and  wary,  and  immediately  left  the  room.  Whether  he 
meant  to  rush  in  upon  the  miscreants  in  the  midst  of  their 
plotting,  or  to  take  some  calmer  course,  I  knew  not. 

I  determined  to  fly  to  the  village,  and  warn  Eumela  of 
the  danger  that  impended,  or  to  rescue  her  at  the  risk  of 
my  life  ;  but  the  afternoon  had  far  advanced,  before  I 
could  depart.  I  was  embarrassed  and  hindered  :  the  arti- 
fices of  Maduba  and  her  wizard  accomplice  seemed  to  be 
woven  around  me  like  a  web. 

At  last  I  got  off,  and  hurried  forward.  As  I  went  on,  I 
saw  in  the  remote  horizon,  before  me,  a  most  unexpected 
sight.  It  was  a  range  of  mountain-tops,  far  in  the  east, 
not  only  white  with  snow,  but  even  sparkling  with  splen- 
dor, that  living  light  which  we  sometimes  admire  under  a 
full  moon  of  winter.  I  gazed  upon  it  with  delight,  even 
anxious  as  I  was.  My  attention  was  drawn  from  this  vision 
by  my  observing,  on  my  left,  a  noble  rock,  that  rose  from 
fifty  to  a  hundred  feet  perpendicular.  Without  stopping 
for  a  moment,  1  contemplated  this   pile  as  I  continued  my 


281 

course  ;  but  when  I  turned  my  eyes  toward  the  visionary 
scene  just  now  before  me,  no  vestige  of  it  remained.  A 
level  prospect  extended  as  far  as  I  could  see  in  the  dusky 
distance,  and  not  even  a  glimpse  of  the  snowy  eminences 
met  my  view.  It  was  mysterious.  I  could  not  help  dwell- 
ing upon  the  circumstance.  Was  it  an  illusion  of  sorcery, 
designed  to  bewilder  me  ?  I  know  not;  but  that  the  spark- 
ling glimpses  were  visionary,  I  most  fully  believe  ;  and  so 
far  from  being  led  out  of  my  way,  I  persevered  in  pressing 
toward  the  goal. 

The  air  had  a  snowy  feeling :  although  the  wind  came 
from  the  south,  it  chilled  me  to  the  heart  like  a  garment 
of  ice.  The  sky  was  overcast  with  heavy  clouds,  lurid 
masses  of  vapor  I  may  call  them,  which  began  to  descend 
in  rain,  and  soon  after  turned  to  sleet, — even  the  accom- 
plishment of  the  presages  of  the  morning.  The  rain  be- 
came sleet,  the  sleet  turned  to  hail  and  snow,  and  before  I 
could  reach  the  village,  night  and  the  storm  having  dark- 
ened around  me,  I  could  scarcely  distinguish  one  house 
from  another.  I  was  however  enabled,  though  not  without 
difficulty,  to  find  the  mansion  of  Eumela,  it  being  more 
lofty  than  any  other. 

I  knocked.  To  my  utter  astonishment,  who  should 
appear  but  Maduba,  the  sorceress  Maduba  herself!  With 
malignity  and  triumph  in  her  look,  she  came  to  the  door 
and  addressed  me  :  "  You  are  come,  are  you  ?  I  have  been 
some  time  expecting  you.  What  are  you  after  here  ?  Why 
are  you  lurking  about  in  snow-storms  ?  Donna  Euemla,  — 
is  she  the  magnet  ?  that  most  amiable  and  sentimental  of 
damsels  ?  Eumela  D'Almanza,  and  Maurice  the  Cloud- 
boy, —  what  a  beautiful  match  !  But  you  are  too  late,  Sir. 
She  has  been  gone  these  two  hours.  So  good  evening  to 
you.  Permit  me  to  wish  you  a  pleasant  walk,  Sir,  back 
to  the  Castle." 

I  was  thunderstruck. 

"  You  have  murdered  her !"  I  exclaimed  with  frantic 
fury.    "  You  have  murdered  her." 

"  No,  I  rather  think  not,"  she  with  cool  sarcasm  replied  ; 
"  at  least  not  yet.  Murdering  one's  daughter  does  not 
sound  well :  do  you  think  it  does  ?" 

"  I  intreat  you,"  1  rejoined,  "I  conjure  you  to  inform  me 
24* 


282 

where  she  is.  As  you  would  find  mercy  in  your  last  hour, 
I  beseech  you  to  inform  me.  Let  me  see  her  but  one 
moment." 

My  intreaties  were  all  in  vain. 

"  You  will  find  her,  it  may  be,  at  the  Castle  ;  or  she 
has  chartered  a  cloud,  perhaps,  to  transport  her  home  to 
St.  Brandan's.  Who  knows  ?  You  shall  know  in  good 
time,"  she  added  with  a  bitter  sneer  ;  "  and  I  hope  soon 
to  see  you  taken  off  yourself.  Meantime  take  care  never 
to  intrude  here  again.  This  mansion,  you  will  please  to 
remember,  is  mine.  I  shall  make  it  my  home.  That 
grandee  of  St.  Brandan's,  whom  you  so  often  extol  as  supe- 
rior to  the  whole  world,  —  I  leave  him.  I  endure  his  hom- 
ilies no  longer." 

Scarcely  had  she  uttered  these  words,  when  a  strong 
humming  sound  passed  over  us, — three  times  it  passed 
on  the  wind,  —  after  which  a  voice,  solemn  as  the  voice  of 
Death,  chanted  the  following  words: 

"  Accursed,  beware  ! 
Your  last  warning  receive  ;  — 
Beware  when  we  next  meet, 
Be  it  morning  or  eve." 

Her  lips  blanched  with  terror,  and  her  eyes  glowing 
with  rage,  Maduba  shrunk  from  the  presence  and  locked 
the  door  in  my  face. 

What  had  I  not  reason  to  fear  !  I  had  but  one  resource, 
and  that  I  determined  immediately  to  secure,  even  the 
interposition  of  my  preserver  and  patron,  Simplicio.  I 
quitted  the  door,  brooding  revenge.  What  were  darkness 
and  tempest  to  me  now !  In  a  state  of  desperation,  I  retrod 
my  way  toward  the  Castle,  now  running  and  now  in  a  hur- 
rying walk,  but  at  last  I  became  bewildered :  I  knew  not 
whither  to  move.  The  gloom  of  night  was  extreme,  the 
woods  pathless,  the  ravines  and  ridges  wild.  The  alterna- 
tive was  before  me,  either  to  lie  down  and  tamely  perish,  or 
to  press  forward  with  the  strong  resolve  of  the  soul;  and 
peradventure  I  might  come  within  the  gleam  of  the  castle 
windows.  Hour  after  hour  I  struggled  with  the  storm.  My 
frame  is  not  muscular  or  robust,  but  never  until  now  had  I 
been  conscious  of  its  power  of  endurance. 

No  light,  no  path  appeared.     At  last,  spent  with  exer- 


283 

tion,  and  despairing  to  find  a  house  before  daylight,  I 
reclined  against  the  sheltered  side  of  a  high  rock.  Resting 
a  moment,  I  thought  of  the  prophet's  shadow  of  a  great 
rock  in  a  weary  land,  and  took  courage.  Still  there  was 
mystery  in  the  past,  and  peril  in  the  present.  The  strange 
agency  of  the  Bird,  my  unaccountable  removal  from  home, 
my  aerial  voyage,  my  descent  upon  the  ridge,  my  wander- 
ing amid  the  wilderness,  my  reception  at  the  castle,  the 
undoubted  guilt  of  Maduba,  the  affectionate  good-will  of 
Simplicio,  the  disappearance  of  Eumela,  the  exhaustion 
and  death-chill  now  upon  me, — these  all  passed  in  rapid 
review  before  me.  My  adventures  seemed  rather  to  resem- 
ble the  air-wove  features  of  a  dream,  than  those  of  reality. 
I  stamped  the  ground,  I  grasped  my  arm,  to  convince 
myself  of  the  truth  of  my  state. 

Insensibly  the  snow,  the  misty  rain,  the  wind,  and  the 
cold  atmosphere  so  benumbed  my  limbs,  that  I  felt  inca- 
pable of  proceeding  much  further,  and  I  resigned  myself  to 
that  mysterious  Power,  who  overrules  in  wisdom  the  desti 
nies  of  all.  A  drowsiness  came  over  my  faculties,  and 
closing  my  eyes,  I  was  about  to  sleep,  perhaps  even  the 
sleep  of  death  ; — when  in  a  moment  my  lethargy  was  gone, 
the  grasp  of  death  was  relaxed,  for  the  warbling  of  my 
Bird  came  over  my  soul,  inspiring  as  hope  from  heaven  : 

u  Wake,  arise  !  rise,  awake  ! 
More  than  life  is  at  stake  ; 
No  more  pause,  no  more  sleep, 
Ever  watch  and  ward  keep. 
Your  Eumela  is  near, 
Then  dismiss  every  fear ; 
Hold  me  faithful  and  true, 
Keep  St.  Brandan's  in  view  : 
Beauty,  virtue,  and  love 
Here  their  influence  shall  prove, 
Though  Maduba  and  crime 
Should  e'en  triumph  —  their  time. 
Danger,  death  may  impend, 
Yet  confide  to  the  end. 
Then  arise  and  awake, 
For  two  lives  are  at  stake." 


CHAPTER   VI. 


THINGS    VISIONARY    AND    THINGS     REAL,     SEEN     AND     SAID 
WITHIN  THE  EARTH. 


Thus  encouraged  and  cautioned  by  the  Bird,  and  know- 
ing the  fatal  consequence  of  indulging  in  sleep,  my  spirit 
once  more  rallied,  and  I  was  moving  away  from  the  rock, 
when  a  low  sound  thrilled  my  soul.  This  was  no  bird- 
note  of  warning  or  comfort.  Did  it  issue  from  the  em- 
bodied darkness,  the  massy  gloom  around  me  ?  Did  it 
come  up  from  the  depth  of  the  earth  ?  I  listened.  In  a 
pause  of  the  storm,  a  moan  came  to  my  ear  and  heart ; 
but  whence  it  came,  I  knew  not.  A  strange  feeling  pos- 
sessed me.  Was  the  wilderness  haunted?  Were  spirits 
lamenting  the  death  of  Eumela  ?  Were  they  commiserat- 
ing my  own  calamity  ?  Or  was  it  not  rather  the  murdered 
Eumela  herself,  calling  upon  me  for  vengeance  ? 

Advancing  a  step  to  the  right,  where  the  rock  half  faced 
me,  I  discerned  through  a  crevice  a  feeble  ray  of  light. 
A  flash  of  joy  shot  through  my  heart.  I  went  up  to  the 
spot,  and  discovered  a  small  aperture,  which  was  almost 
concealed  by  snow  and  brushwood.  In  open  daylight  it 
would  have  remained  unsuspected.  This  little  beam 
was  my  sole  clue.  With  difficulty  and  precaution  I  re- 
moved the  obstructions,  raised  a  sort  of  trap  door  by  a  ring, 
went  down  some  rude  stone  steps,  and  found  myself  in  a 
spacious  room,  formed  in  the  solid  marble.  It  contained 
nothing  but  the  solitary  lamp,  which  had  emitted  the 
feeble  light  I  had  caught  sight  of.  Compared  with  the 
atmosphere    above,    a   most   welcome    warmth    met    and 


285 

flowed  around  me.  No  person  was  visible ;  no  sound  was 
heard  but  the  sweep  of  the  storm  ;  and  even  that  came  to 
my  ear  like  the  dead  echo  of  night. 

By  the  gleam  of  the  lamp,  which  burnt  dimly  on  a  pro- 
jection or  stone-table,  I  narrowly  surveyed  this  subterranean 
abode ;  .  .  .  when  the  same  sound  of  woe,  sobbings  and  in- 
terrupted moans,  —  more  full  and  audible,  —  struck  on  my 
soul.  Breathless,  I  hurried  toward  the  sound,  rushed 
against  a  large  rock  that  secured  an  inner  cave,  dragged  it 
away  with  the  strength  of  madness,  when,  merciful  God  ! 
what  a  sight  met  my  view  ! 

My  own  Eumela  appeared  before  me  in  the  dusky  light. 
She  was  bound  with  cords,  half  seated  on  a  block  of  mar- 
ble, and  half  reclined  against  the  wall,  —  her  head  resting 
on  her  bosom,  her  tears  flowing,  and  sobs  bursting  forth 
from  excess  of  suffering.  Unbinding  the  cords,  and 
brushing  away  the  drops  that  trickled  down  her  cheek,  I 
impetuously  and  with  wild  sympathy  inquired,  how  she 
came  to  be  buried  there  alive. 

"My  fears,  dear  Maurice,  were  but  too  just,"  she 
sobbed :  "  Maduba  and  some  accomplice  of  hers  have 
worked  me  this  mischief.  By  those  wretches  have  I  been 
spirited  away.  I  know  not  where  I  am.  Soon  after  night- 
fall, I  was  seized  at  my  home,  blindfolded,  forced  into  a 
close  vehicle,  and  hurried  to  this  place.  Here  I  was  left 
imprisoned  and  bound,  —  left  to  die.  But  the  righteous 
Disposer  of  events, — O  may  we  ever  repose  unbound- 
ed confidence  in  him!  —  has  disconcerted  the  scheme  of 
villany.  My  dear  friend,  from  what  horrors  have  you 
saved  me  !     Can  I  ever  be  sufficiently  grateful  ?  " 

"  My  own  Eumela,"  I  answered,  folding  her  to  my 
heart  and  kissing  away  her  tears,  "you  know  my  every 
emotion.  I  need  say  no  more.  I  am  myself  but  now 
rescued  from  a  death  even  more  imminent  than  your  own.'" 

It  was  now,  so  far  as  we  could  judge,  some  hours  past 
midnight.  We  took  the  solitary  lamp,  and  retired  still 
further  into  the  cavern,  where  the  warmth  of  the  tempera- 
ture became  more  and  more  grateful,  and  where  the  blessed 
hopes  which  had  arisen,  restored  us  to  ourselves.  We 
took  the  lamp,  but  made  no  pause  to  contemplate,  even 
for  a  moment,  the  brilliancy  of  the  stalactite  pillars,  and 


286 

the  forms  of  magic  beauty  flashing  into  life  along  the 
starry  roof.  The  grotto  was  broad  and  lofty,  and,  judging 
from  the  far  echo  of  our  voices,  we  imagined  it  must  extend 
into  the  ridge  some  hundred  feet.  With  minds  more  com- 
posed, we  might  have  explored  its  picturesque  wonders  for 
many  hours,  but,  in  our  present  state  of  feeling,  it  would 
have  been  doing  injustice  both  to  nature  and  to  ourselves. 
A  stronger  power  was  upon  us,  than  even  these  miracles 
of  the  picturesque,  —  the  power  of  the  human  heart. 
Giving  our  light  its  best  site  for  illumination,  we  sat  down 
on  a  fallen  column  of  spar. 

After  recounting  what  I  had  learned  in  the  morning, 
and  every  subsequent  adventure  and  movement^  "  Our 
perils  are  now  past,"  I  said,  "I  have  perfect  confidence  in 
Simplicio's  worth.  With  the  return  of  morning,  we  will 
repair  to  the  castle,  and  lay  the  crimes  of  our  enemies  be- 
fore him.  He  is  lord  of  this  island,  and  we  have  a  right 
to  his  protection." 

"It  will  certainly  be  best,"  replied  Eumela  :  "I  too  re- 
pose unwavering  confidence  in  his  justice.  I  have  no 
doubt  respecting  the  event.  Do  not  call  me  superstitious. 
I  cannot  but  cherish  the  persuasion,  that  we  are  sometimes 
peculiarly  open  to  spiritual  influences.  There  seems,  in 
moments  of  anguish  intense  as  mine  has  been,  to  be  a 
breathing  upon  our  spirits  from  the  invisible  world.  Since 
doomed  to  this  dungeon  of  despair,  I  seem  to  have  had  a 
visitation  from  the  spirit  of  my  father.  It  may  have  been 
a  delusion,  fashioned  by  the  shaping  mind  ;  what  you  told 
me  about  that  strange  Bird  of  yours,  may  have  furnished 
the  materials  ;  but  you  shall  judge  for  yourself. 

"  When  I  had  been  here  two  or  three  hours,  I  sunk 
down  upon  the  pedestal  where  you  found  me,  and  from 
perfect  exhaustion  fell  into  a  slumber  ;  but  my  spirit  was 
intensely  awake.  You  were  with  me,  and  we  were  jour- 
neying westward,  directly  toward  the  evening  sun,  which 
was  somewhat  more  than  an  hour  high.  As  we  were 
noticing  its  uncommon  breadth  and  lustre,  we  saw  beneath 
it  an  orchard-slope,  one  of  the  dear  orchard-slopes  of  St. 
Brandan's.  Yes,  we  were  there.  A  spring  shower  had 
just  passed  over,  and  evening  came  on.  The  sky  was  of 
the  softest  blue,  and  a  breeze,  rich  with  the  fragrance  of 


287 

young  buds  and  blossoms,  breathed  over  one  of  the  low- 
lands of  my  native  home.  It  seemed  the  bliss  of  heaven 
to  us  both.  The  earth  was  as  dewy  as  the  mist  of  a  night 
could  have  made  it.  As  the  sun  approached  the  horizon, 
I  observed  the  clear  drops  suspended  from  the  green 
blades  of  grass;  but  you  were  not  satisfied  with  seeing  me 
give  them  only  a  general  survey;  —  you  made  me  stoop 
down  with  my  face  to  the  ground,  and  catch  the  brilliancy 
of  the  beams,  trembling  and  quivering  and  sparkling 
through  the  drops  of  crystal.  O  what  hues  !  what  infi- 
nite varying  of  hues  !  The  dew-drops  of  the  shower,  the 
meadow  half  water  and  half  verdure,  and  the  moving 
waves  of  my  own  river,  seen  through  the  orchard  in 
blossom,  were  overspread  with  such  vivid  and  living  lustre, 
as  the  prism  discloses.  Hardly  could  our  eyes  be  satisfied 
with  seeing." 

"  What  a  contrast,"  I  exclaimed,  interrupting  Eumela, 
"  between  your  visionary  scene  and  my  dark  reality  at  the 
very  same  moment !  " 

"  It  was  a  mysterious  contrast  indeed,  a  strange  kind  of 
life  in  death  to  us  both,"  replied  Eumela  ;  "  but  blessed  be 
God,  that  we  are  really  together  now!  —  Well,  leaving 
our  point  of  observation,  and  going  round  the  moist 
meadow,  we  entered  the  orchard,  where  the  breeze  wafted 
the  very  spirit  of  freshness.  While  we  stood  breathing 
the  fragrance,  and  viewing  the  world  of  blossoms  around 
us,  we  saw  a  humming-bird,  now  looking  into  this  blossom, 
and  now  sucking  honey-dew  from  that,  and  now  remaining 
stationary  in  the  air  like  a  spinning  top.  Once  or  twice  it 
hovered  near  us,  and  we  darted  out  our  hands  to  catch  it, 
but  the  little  creature  eluded  us. 

"  At  last  I  drew  up  towards  the  tree  with  red  blossoms, 
the  tree  I  used  to  call  mine  seven  years  ago,  and  where 
this  birdlet  was  sporting ;  and  just  as  he  was  plunging  his 
head  up  to  his  eyes  in  one  of  the  crimson  cups.,  I  with  my 
best  sleight  of  hand  made  him  my  prisoner. 

"  When  I  came  to  examine  this  gleam  of  a  bird,  if  I 
may  so  call  him,  I  found  him  more  beautiful  than  a 
blossom  itself.  I  felt  his  little  heart  beat  in  my  hand,  but 
he  appeared  to  be  not  at  all  fearful ;  and  when  he  looked 
at  me  with  mild  expressive  eyes,  and  opened  his  little  bill 


288 

and  spoke,  I  was  not  in  the  least  surprised.  And  when  I 
asked  him  what  he  wras,  whence  he  came,  whither  he  was 
going,  and  what  his  business  was,  he  very  promptly  made 
answer:  "  I  am  a  Soul,  —  the  soul  of  your  father.  I 
came  from  heaven,  and  I  came  expressly  to  comfort  you 
in  your  trials." 

"  How  my  heart  throbbed  !  how  [  trembled,  as  I  viewed 
this  strange  visiter !  could  it  be  ?  Could  my  father  have 
assumed  the  form  of  a  bird?  I  wept  in  silence.  I  then 
eagerly  inquired  respecting  my  dear  mother,  —  the  pursuits, 
enjoyments,  and  mysteries  of  a  disembodied  spirit. 
"  These,"  said  he,  "  it  is  not  for  you  to  know.  But  be  of 
good  courage,  Eumela.  Confide  in  the  friend  beside  you, 
in  the  truth  and  integrity  of  your  revered  guardian,  in  the 
principles  of  that  holy  faith  I  have  taught  you,  and  in  the 
pure  impulses  of  your  own  heart.  Your  mother  most  ten- 
derly remembers  you  ;  we  both  remember  you  in  heaven, 
and  we  watch  over  you  on  earth.  And  now,  daughter  of 
my  own  Rosamunda,  1  commend  you  to  the  care  of  Him 
whose  mercy  and  justice  never  slumber  nor  sleep." 

"  While  these  words,"  Eumela  added,  "  were  vibrating 
on  my  ear  and  heart,  the  bird-spirit  vanished  like  a  gleam 
of  light :  I  could  only  say  it  was  seen,  and  not  seen  ;  and  I 
awoke  to  the  misery,  from  which  you  have  delivered 
me." 

"  Whatever,"  I  replied,  "  may  have  been  the  nature  of 
this  interview  of  yours,  whether,  as  you  suggest,  it  were  a 
breathing  upon  your  spirit  from  the  unseen  world,  or  the 
creative  force  and  elasticity  of  that  spirit  itself,  we  ought  to 
be  equally  grateful  for  the  gift.  Would  that  I  felt  more  of 
this  elasticity  myself." 

"  Never  yield  to  despondency,  I  entreat  you,"  ex- 
claimed Eumela  with  impassioned  tenderness.  <c  Even  in 
this  cavern  of  the  earth,  we  ought  to  be  inspired  by  grati- 
tude, hope,  and  lofty  courage." 

As  the  night  passed  on,  the  violence  of  the  storm  seemed 
to  have  abated ;  when  hearing  overhead  several  peals  of 
thunder,  a  circumstance  quite  unusual  at  this  season,  we 
went  to  the  opening  of  the  cave,  and  lifted  the  door,  to 
look  out  upon  the  aspect  of  the  country,  as  it  might  be 
disclosed  by  the  lightning.     The  snow  was  deep,  encrust- 


289 

ed,   and  of  polished  smoothness.     There  was  a  thin  va- 
pour in  the  air,  and  a  few  drops  of  a  shower  were  falling. 
Lightning  of  the  phosphorescent  kind,  pure-white  I  may 
call  it  as  the  robes  of  heaven,  was  filling  the  whole  hemi- 
sphere with  its  glory,  and  revealing  the  footstool  of  God  in 
all  its  unimaginable  beauty.     Eye  never  saw,  heart  never 
conceived,    its    infinitely-faint    blueish    delicacy.     There 
was  something  too  very  impressive  in  the  thunder  among 
the    mountains.     Sometimes    the    wider    phosphorescence 
paused  four  or  five  seconds,  as  if  delighting  to  witness  its 
own  power ;  and  sometimes  the  flash  had  hardly  permitted 
our  eyes  to  glance  upon  a  Crag  or  Steep,  far  to  the  west, 
before  a  chaos  of  solid  darkness  rushed  between,  and  we 
seemed  almost  able  to  hear  the  concussion  of  the  atoms. 
We  stood  rapt  with  the  beauty  and  sublimity  of  the  phe- 
nomenon.    The  Temple  of  Nature,  its    floor    of  snowy 
whiteness  and   crystal  polish,  its  wide-swelling  dome,  its 
immense  interior,  all  appeared,  like  the  mount  of  transfigu- 
ration, to  be  filled  with  the  glory  of  God.     We  never  felt 
the  presence  of  this  infinite  Being  more  powerfully,  and 
never  did  the  incense  of  our  hearts  ascend  to  him  with  a 
more  spontaneous  impulse,  than  from  this  island  sanctuary. 
Retiring  again  to  the  warmer  recesses  of  our  grotto,  we 
passed  the  brief  hour  that  remained  of  the  night,  in  form- 
ing plans  for  the  future,  and  in  such  communion  as  the 
anxious  and  affectionate  prize.     Would  not  hearts,  cement- 
ed by  mutual  affection,  find  a  prison,  a  desert,  a  rock  in 
the  ocean,  —  I  do  not  say  a  paradise  of  pleasures,  or  that 
they  can  be  insensible  to  the  evils  of  life; — but  even  in 
circumstances  disastrous  as  these,  what  softening  of  evil, 
what   disarming  of  calamity,  do  they  not  experience !  — 
Such,  at  any  rate,  are  the  breathings  of  youthful  tender- 
ness, and  sometimes,  it  may    be,    even    of  maturer    life, 
however  romantic  the  general  experience  of  age  may  pro- 
nounce them. 

25 


CHAPTER   VII. 


WE  LEAVE  THE  GROTTO,  AND  I  RETURN  TO  THE 
CASTLE  ALONE. 


Morning  dawned,  and  we  prepared  to  leave  our  asy- 
lum, the  prison  of  despair  and  hope.  Putting  out  the 
lamp,  which  the  wizard  acc.omplice  had  in  his  perturbation 
left  burning,  we  quitted  th^Goshen  of  security,  this  Grot- 
to of  Lovers,  and  breathed  the  bracing  air  of  a  winter 
morning.  The  storm  was  over,  and  the  twilight  shone 
beautifully,  even  with  a  spiritual  lustre,  through  the  icy 
branches  and  upon  the  glazed  cliffs  ;  but  the  brilliancy  that 
flashed  in  the  rising  sun, — what  language  can  impart  any 
conception  of  those  hues  of  heaven  ?  none  :  it  was  a  misty 
glory  to  be  seen  by  the  actual  vision,  and  not  to  be  ima- 
gined from  the  faint  reflection  of  words. 

Not  knowing  where  we  were,  we  were  uncertain  which 
way  to  proceed,  but  hunger  and  exhaustion  forced  us  to  a 
speedy  determination.  Using  our  best  judgment,  we  di- 
rected our  course  toward  the  south ;  and  in  about  two 
hours  ascending  the  summit  of  a  rising  ground,  we  des- 
cried further  westward  a  building  at  considerable  distance. 
It  stood  amid  a  grove  of  spruce,  hemlock,  and  pine. 
The  cottage-smoke,  rising  out  of  this  verdure  of  winter, 
half  hidden  by  its  coat  of  crystal,  curled  on  the  morning 
air.  The  snow-crust  bore  us,  and  descending  with  a  quick- 
ened step,  it  was  not  long  before  we  reached  the  house. 

Happily  Eumela  was  well  acquainted  with  the  widow 
who  dwelt  there,  and  who  gave  us  a  cordial  welcome.  It 
was    a    beautiful    sight    to    see    human   nature,   not  only 


291 

in  its  primitive  simplicity,  but  ennobled  by  the  influence  of 
the  Christian  faith.  We  sat  down  to  a  plain  but  well  fur- 
nished table.  Eumela's  kindness  was  most  grateful  to  me. 
Oh  it  was  exquisite,  after  the  sufferings  of  such  a  night,  to 
experience  the  bliss  of  such  a  morning!  The  Being, 
whose  attributes  of  wisdom  and  goodness  ought  every  hour 
to  come  home  to  our  hearts,  seldom  sends  either  joy  or 
sorrow  unmingled.  Even  in  ecstasy  there  is  a  mysteri- 
ous sadness,  and  some  drops  from  heaven  itself  are  infused 
in  the  cup  of  bitterness.     God  is  good. 

I  ascertained  here,  that,  turning  away  from  the  wind,  my 
wanderings,  the  preceding  night,  had  carried  me  many 
miles  north  of  the  Castle,  and  that  Eumela  had  been  im- 
mured in  the  very  depth  of  the  forest.  After  finishing 
our  repast,  therefore,  and  thanking  our  kind  entertainer,  I 
saw  no  other  way,  than  to  commit  Eumela  to  her  care, 
and  to  proceed  to  Simplicio's  alone.  With  the  bright 
sunshine  around  us,  we  felt  no  presentiment  of  evil ;  since, 
however  unwilling  we  might  be  to  separate,  a  very  few 
hours  would  reunite  us. 

I  bent  my  course  toward  home.  The  unremitted  work- 
ings of  my  soul  imparted  life,  vigour,  alertness.  I  never 
walked  so  unconsciously,  or  with  such  spirit-speed.  Still 
the  length  of  the  way  was  considerable,  and,  from  imperfect 
knowledge,  my  deviations  were  so  frequent,  that  it  was 
sunset  before  I  arrived.  Nobody  was  in  the  Castle  but 
Simplicio.  Him  I  found  wrapt  in  deep  study,  but  he  ex- 
pressed no  surprise  at  my  long  absence.  He  said,  indeed, 
that  when  the  night  grew  so  tempestuous,  he  had  become 
apprehensive  for  my  safety,  and  had  despatched  a  messenger 
to  afford  me  any  assistance  I  might  need.  He  added  too 
with  a  benevolent  smile,  that  he  was  by  no  means  over  in- 
quisitive, but  was  rejoiced  to  see  me  returned. 

Who  could  resist  a  spirit  like  this?  a  spirit  so  consider- 
ate and  kindly  ?  I  could  not.  I  unfolded  every  feeling 
of  my  heart,  every  suspicion  I  had  formed,  every  fear  I 
had  felt,  and  every  circumstance  tending  to  confirm  their 
truth.  "False  modesty,"  I  breathed  to  myself,  "shall  no 
longer  prevent  this  disclosure." 

Simplicio's  indignation  was  visible ;  his  piercing  eyes 
spoke  both  vengeance  and  sorrow ;  still   for  a  long  time 


292 

his  lips  were  silent.  At  last  he  said :  "  The  detection  we 
made  yesterday  morning,  with  other  circumstances  at 
present  unknown  to  you,  has  made  all  mystery  clear, — 
has  put  mein  complete  possession  of  your  story.  Of  your 
enemies  and  their  conspiracy  I  shall  at  present  say  little. 
I  have  not  dismissed  Maduba  from  the  Castle.  When  I 
met  her  yesterday,  immediately  after  leaving  you,  I  gave 
her  such  a  rebuke  as  she  deserved ;  and  I  bade  her  be- 
ware as  to  her  conduct  for  the  future.  Her  accomplice 
had  disappeared,  and  she  too  left  the  castle  some  time  be- 
fore yourself. 

"  Your  affection  for  the  daughter  of  my  friend  I  cordi- 
ally approve  ;  and  I  am  persuaded,  from  what  I  have 
myself  remarked,  that  she  merits  all  the  warmth  of  your 
attachment.  So  in  order  to  secure  her  from  molestation, 
as  well  as  to  promote  your  mutual  happiness,  I  desire  you 
to  conduct  her  to  the  Castle.  Were  it  in  your  power,  I 
could  wish  you  to  bring  her  this  very  night;  but  as  dark- 
ness has  now  closed  over  us,  you  must  defer  it  to  the 
morning.  I  advise  you  to  retire  early  to  rest,  and  with 
the  dawn  of  tomorrow  to  be  on  your  way  to  Eumela." 

Maduba  was  still  absent.  She  had  been  away  all  night 
and  all  day  ;  and  I  doubted  not,  as  she  said,  that  she  never 
meant  to  return.  These  were  circumstances  that  gave 
me  great  alarm.  I  had  no  repose  that  night.  Hour  after 
hour  passed  slowly  away,  and  Eumela,  incessantly  rising 
to  view,  filled  my  whole  thought. 

Sometimes,  when  I  half  slumbered,  imagination  unfold- 
ed visions  of  horror.  I  saw  her  bathed  in  blood  beneath 
the  dagger  of  an  assassin  ;  I  saw  her  poisoned  and  con- 
vulsed ;  1  heard  her  in  the  agony  of  death  calling  on  me 
for  relief;  I  saw  her  plunging  from  a  precipice  into  the 
sea ;  and  then  1  saw  Maduba  and  her  accomplice  exulting 
at  the  sight. 

Again  I  thought  that  Simplicio,  Eumela,  and  myself 
were  standing  on  one  of  the  highest  mountain  ridges  of 
the  island.  On  every  side  we  contemplated  the  ocean. 
We  saw  the  pennants  fluttering  and  streaming  on  the  even- 
ing breeze.  Suddenly  the  island  trembled  to  its  centre. 
O  God  !  it  sunk,  it  slowly  went  down,  mighty  billows 
from  every  quarter  came  rolling  onward,  throwing  up  clouds 


293 

of  foam,  and  overwhelming  fields,  woods,  houses,  inhab- 
itants,—  one  general  ruin.  The  waves  momently  gained 
upon  the  height  where  we  stood  ;  they  covered  it ;  when 
we  were  suddenly  lifted  above  the  roaring  inundation, 
and  carried  upward,  buoyant  as  the  disembodied,  toward 
the  myriads  of  stars  in  the  immense  dome  above  us. 

Thus  imagination,  which  had  formerly  pictured  scenes 
of  delight,  now  tortured  me  with  fantasies  equally  unreal ; 
and  it  may  not  be  unworthy  of  remark,  that  the  real  suf- 
ferings of  the  past  night,  severe  as  they  were,  caused  me 
less  misery  than  the  imaginary  woes  of  the  present. 
Which  then  are  the  most  grievous,  misfortunes  feared  and 
impending,  or  misfortunes  come  and  endured  ? 
25* 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


DEATH!  DEATH!  INEVITABLE  DEATH!" 


Day  at  length  dawned,  —  the  eventful  day.  Simplicio, 
my  more  than  father,  sent  me  forth  on  my  errand  of  love. 
I  set  off  in  a  sledge,  and  drove  rapidly  to  the  cottage  of  the 
widow.  The  sun  was  but  just  above  the  horizon,  when  I 
reached  her  door.  A  presentiment  of  evil  shot  through 
me,  as  I  saw  her  standing  there,  pale  and  in  tears,  the  very 
statue  of  grief  and  fear. 

"  O  that  you  had  come,  sir,"  she  cried,  "  only  a  few  mo- 
ments sooner  !  Eumela  is  gone.  She  has  just  been  carried 
off  in  a  covered  carriage,  almost,  I  fear,  in  a  state  of  insen- 
sibility. They  went  toward  the  southwestern  haven.  You 
see  the  track  of  the  horses'  hoofs.  I  can  tell  you  no  more. 
But  fly,  fly  after  them,  and  the  dear  child  may  yet  be  saved." 

While  she  spoke,  I  felt  as  if  sinking  into  the  earth  ;  but 
before  she  had  finished,  the  thought  of  revenge,  and  of  lib- 
erating Eumela,  roused  me. 

Turning  my  horse  to  the  right,  off  I  drove  over  the  crust, 
like  a  bloodhound  on  the  track  of  a  murderer.  Some  miles 
onward,  I  passed  the  body  of  a  man  apparently  frozen  and 
stiff.  Whether  he  had  met  his  death  by  falling  down  the 
precipice,  at  the  foot  of  which  he  was  lying,  or  whether  he 
had  been  smitten  by  the  judgment  of  heaven,  the  thunder 
I  had  heard  in  the  grotto,  I  cannot  say  :  the  snow  was 
discolored  by  his  blood,  and  a  glance  was  sufficient  to 
convince  me,  that  he  must  have  perished  in  the  storm,  to 
which  I   had  been  some  hours  exposed  myself.     Was  he 


295 

the  accomplice  of  Maduba  ?  Without  the  pause  of  a  mo- 
ment, I  hurried  forward,  and  less  than  two  hours  brought 
me  near  the  cliffs  of  the  southwestern  border  of  the  forest, 
and  almost  within  sight  of  the  haven.  Already  was  the 
ocean,  on  the  left,  in  full  view  before  me.  Thank  God ! 
there  is  something  else  in  full  view.  Far  before  me,  pass- 
ing close  to  the  verge  of  the  cliffs,  I  saw  the  flying  car- 
riage ;  I  gained  upon  the  fugitives,  and  pressed  them  hard. 
They  hurried  up  the  ravine,  and  drove  rapidly  along  the 
summit.  I  followed  after  like  destiny,  and,  when  I  had  nearly 
overtaken  them,  saw  a  hand  thrust  out  of  the  carriage,  and 
waved  in  the  air.  Great  God,  that  sound  from  the  steep  !  — 
all  disappeared  in  a  moment;  —  and  that  cry  of  terror  !  — 

I  paused  in  breathless  consternation.  —  Whom  did  I  see 
before  me  ?  her  hair  dishevelled,  and  streaming  in  the  wind, 
her  garments  rent,  —  a  form  moving  with  the  wildness  of 
distraction  !  —  It  was  Eumela  herself!  —  A  cry  of  aston- 
ishment burst  from  us  both.  I  had  slackened  my  furious 
speed.  Stopping  one  moment,  and  reaching  her  my  hand, 
1  helped  her  into  the  sledge;  and,  turning  back  the  way 
we  had  come,  we  gave  a  loose  to  this  unexpected  joy. 

"  Eumela  !  Eumela!  how  is  it  I  meet  you  thus  !  " 

"  O  Maurice !  it  is  a  dreadful  tale,"  she  answered  ; 
"  avarice  and  pride,  malevolence  and  fear,  had  conspired 
to  destroy  us.  I  say  to  destroy  us,  for  the  plotting  was 
equally  against  the  peace  of  us  both.  An  emissary  of  Ma- 
duba saw  us  quit  the  grotto,  followed  us  at  a  distance  to 
the  widow's  cottage,  and,  after  observing  you  depart  alone, 
gave  his  mistress  information.  Not  murder,  as  I  imagined, 
but  temporary  confinement  had  been  her  object ;  and  this 
scheme  she  now  saw  was  defeated.  Her  purpose  had 
been  to  remove  me  from  the  island  at  the  earliest  oppor- 
tunity. 

"  Thus  disconcerted,  and  perhaps  awed  by  the  interpo- 
sition of  Providence,  she  resolved  to  adopt,  for  the  present 
at  least,  measures  less  atrocious.  Last  evening,  when  you 
failed  to  return,  I  could  not  avoid  feeling  disappointed  and 
anxious.  However,  I  rose  early  this  morning,  to  be  pre- 
pared for  your  coming ;  and  when  I  looked  from  the  win- 
dow, I  saw  a  carriage  already  waiting  for  me  in  the  grove. 
The  driver,  who  had  been  himself  deceived,  said  it  was  to 


296 

convey  me  to  the  Castle.  Suspecting  no  evil,  I  stept  in, 
and  away  went  the  horses  full-speed.  But  what  was  my 
consternation,  when,  on  raising  my  eyes,  I  perceived  Ma- 
duba,  —  the  detested  Maduba,  —  smiling  upon  her  poor 
captive  with  the  malice  of  a  demon ! 

"  I  screamed  with  terror.  Our  kind  hostess  must  have 
heard  me.  But  disregarding  my  cries,  Maduba  said  to  me  : 
'  Peace  !  The  strong  arm  of  necessity  is  upon  you.  I 
now  have  you  securely,  and  to  my  will  you  shall  submit. 
You  would  rather,  perchance,  be  mistress  of  an  elegant  man- 
sion-house by  the  sea-side  ;  you  would  prefer,  no  doubt,  to 
warble  Hunters'  Dreams  and  Geraldines  of  St.  Brandan's 
to  some  king  of  the  clouds  ;  or  it  is  not  impossible,  —  who 
knows?  —  but  you  may  aspire  to  be  mistress  of  a  Castle. 
Or  a  trip  to  St.  Brandan's,  —  what  say  you  to  that !  — 
Perhaps  become  queen  ofthat  famous  island! — Enter- 
tain no  fear :  I  will  provide  you  with  islands,  and  queens, 
and  kings,  and  clouds,  and  grottoes,  and  palaces,  and  cas- 
tles, and  dreams  ! '  — 

"  She  continued  her  taunts,  though  evidently  mortified 
that  my  spirit  rose  above  them,  until  we  passed  the  frozen 
corse  of  a  man,  whom  I  knew  to  be  her  accomplice. 

"  c  See  there,'  I  exclaimed,  'mark  the  judgment  of 
God  ;  that  judgment,  which  will  inevitably  overtake  your- 
self. I  have  a  presentiment,  that  it  is  near.  Return.  It 
is  not  too  late  to  repent.  I  have  never  injured  you : 
I  have  never  wished  to  injure  you.  Your  avarice, 
your  injustice,  your  antipathy,  your  unkindness,  I  will 
forgive  you  all.  O  for  your  own  sake,  for  my  dead 
father's  sake,  if  not  for  mine,  tremble  at  the  manifested 
wrath  and  retribution  of  Heaven.  Return,  return  ;  it  is 
not  yet  too  late.' 

"  She  seemed  to  be  awed  for  a  moment,  but  continued 
inflexibly  firm  to  her  purpose. 

"  Glancing  my  eye  toward  the  last  cliff  we  had  passed, 
*  Look  back,  look  back,'  I  cried,  '  a  rescue,  a  rescue  ;  he 
is  coming,  the  hand  of  God  is  upon  you.' 

"  Pale  with  rage  and  dismay,  she  commanded  the  driver 
to  hurry  forward.  He  did  so,  until  we  reached  the  sum- 
mit of  that  precipitous  passage,  which  from  the  peril  of 
its  height  is  called  Death-Steep;  when  Maduba  cast  a 
glance    down  the    ravine,   and   perceived  the   furious  ap- 


297 

proach  of  her  pursuer.  Inflamed  with  the  madness  of 
disappointed  hate  and  revenge,  she  snatched  a  dagger  from 
her  bosom,  and  aimed  a  blow  at  my  heart.  I  shrunk 
aside,  and  escaped  the  stroke.  That  instant  the  humming, 
as  of  ten  thousand  wings,  was  heard  on  every  side,  and 
the  words, 

"  Accursed,  beware, 

And  for  judgment  prepare  !  " 

burst  around  us  like  the  blast  of  a  trumpet.  Maduba  shriek- 
ed, and  dropped  the  dagger,  for  she  knew  that  her  hour  of 
doom  was  come.  The  horses  took  fright.  They  flung 
the  driver  from  his  seat.  He  held  the  reins,  and  at  the 
hazard  of  his  life  strove  to  stop  them  —  in  vain.  They 
reared,  they  snorted,  they  sprung,  they  flew.  He  scream- 
ed, '  Save  yourselves  !  Save  yourselves  ! '  1  forced  open 
the  door,  and  bade  Maduba  follow  me.  She  made  a  con- 
vulsive effort,  and  grasped  my  clothes  ;  but  my  feet  had 
scarcely  touched  the  bank,  when  the  infuriated  steeds  leapt 
headlong  down  the  precipice,  and  were  all  dashed  to  pieces 
among  the  crags  some  hundred  feet  below  me.  A  thun- 
der-stroke could  hardly  have  been  more  instantaneous. 
My  miserable  persecutor !  I  heard  her  shrieks,  I  saw  her 
in  the  agony  of  her  descent,  I  saw  her  in  the  very  crush  of 
destruction.  A  mist  rose  over  the  ruin,  and  partially  veiled 
it.  I  could  not  endure  the  dreadful  sight.  So,  while  the 
driver  stood  stupified  at  what  had  happened,  1  ran  down  the 
ravine  to  meet  the  person  who  was  approaching.  I  cher- 
ished the  hope  of  being  blessed,  as  I  now  am,  yet  I  feared 
too  that  you  might  be  a  stranger.  And  now  you  behold 
me  here,  rescued  by  the  hand  of  Providence  from  an  un- 
timely death,  or  from  an  existence,  it  may  be,  worse  than 
death." 

"Our implacable  enemies,"  I  exclaimed,  "  are  no  more. 
They  have  received  a  merited  reward.  Let  us  not  exult 
over  their  doom,  but  soberly  mark  the  hand  of  heaven, 
which  is  ever,  visibly  or  invisibly,  working  for  our  good." 

Relieving  the  anxiety  of  the  good  widow,  as  we  passed, 
we  soon  arrived  at  the  Castle,  and  acquainted  Simplicio,  as 
distinctly  as  our  agitation  would  permit,  with  the  events  of 
the  morning.  Though  by  no  means  insensible  of  Maduba's 


298 

unworthiness,  still  his  pure  mind  appeared  to  be  shocked, 
that  she  had  so  far  lost  all  the  impulses  of  humanity,  as  to 
be  capable  of  perpetrating  atrocities  like  these.  Inex- 
pressibly moved,  he  lifted  up  his  hands  and  eyes  in  aston- 
ishment. 

"  Verily,"  exclaimed  the  good  old  man,  "  the  just  judg- 
ment of  God  has  overtaken  your  foes,  and  almost  in  the 
very  execution  of  their  premeditated  crime.  Let  Death- 
Steep,  the  place  of  the  destruction  of  the  chief  criminal,  be 
the  place  of  the  interment  of  them  both.  They  may  afford 
an  awful  warning  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  island.  —  Come, 
my  dear  children,  for  such  I  must  now  call  you :  you  will 
not  forsake  my  old  age.  I  am  left  alone,  and  my  time  is 
short.  I  love  you  both  ;  you  love  each  other ;  let  us,  at 
least  for  the  winter,  live  at  the  Castle  together.  You  have 
no  Maduba  to  annoy  you  now.  Whether  we  remain  here, 
or  go  home  to  St.  Brandan's,  you  will  comfort  and  enliven 
the  remnant  of  my  days,  and  I  will  recompense  your  kind- 
ness to  me." 

Having  addressed  us  in  this  affectionate  manner,  he 
called  us  both  to  him  ;  and  as  he  joined  our  hands,  a  tear 
of  joy  fell  upon  them.  He  gave  us  his  blessing,  and  bade 
us  be  happy. 

We  remained  at  the  Castle  of  our  Benefactor,  as  he  had 
kindly  requested.  Our  nuptials  were  not  solemnized  im- 
mediately. "  You  are  both  young  and  inexperienced,"  he 
said,  "and  all  haste  in  a  matter  of  such  importance  would 
be  wrong.  Besides,"  he  added,  "  it  is  not  the  will  of 
Heaven  that  you  be  united  here.  Before  that  event,  you 
must  visit  St.  Brandan's.  When  the  milder  season  shall 
come,  I  hope  to  accompany  you  in  your  voyage,  and  join 
your  hands  the  very  day  we  arrive," 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Sweet  Bird  with  your  cloud-boat, 

Now  waft  us  away  :  — 
"  Yes,  away  for  St.  Brandan's 

Ere  dawning  of  day." 


We  had  no  Maduba  to  annoy  us  now.  — 
Our  days,  —  how  serenely  they  now  glided  away  !  Even 
St.  Brandan's  seemed  to  be  forgotten.  Spring  arrived  and 
was  gone.  Summer  came.  We  delighted  to  visit  the 
scenes  of  our  past  misfortunes,  but  no  one  of  them  had 
an  attraction  so  peculiar  as  our  glorious  grotto.  Every 
object  became  endeared  by  remembrance,  and  we  became 
more  and  more  endeared  to  each  other.  —  O  blissful  days 
of  the  heart !  were  they  full  of  memory  and  hope  ?  more, 
infinitely  more,  —  they  were  full  of  the  present. 

Yes,  it  was  now  summer,  and  the  day  we  purposed  to 
embark,  was  near.  One  beautiful  evening  of  June,  after 
a  gentle  shower  resembling  that  of  Eumela's  dream,  we 
walked  forth  with  our  Benefactor  to  enjoy  the  fresh  fra- 
grance of  the  season  ;  and  by  accident  we  ascended  one 
of  those  eminences,  from  which,  some  months  before,  we 
had  contemplated  the  desolation  of  winter.  What  a 
change  !  Now  was  the  resurrection  of  nature.  We  gazed 
delightedly  upon  the  breathing  landscape,  illumined  by 
the  setting  sun.  The  woods  were  thickening  with  foliage  ; 
the  breeze  was  soft  and  salubrious ;  all  things  wore  an  as- 
pect of  placid  and  sober  beauty.  Could  we  ever  look 
enough  ?  We  were  full  of  the  view,  and  yet  we  viewed 
it  again  and  again.  For  some  weeks  had  the  ground-lau- 
rel ventured  to  peep   forth   from  its  shelter   of  moss  and 


300 

old  leaves ;  and,  though  now  shedding  its  minute  blos- 
soms of  tinted  white  and  delicate  pink,  it  was  still  diffus- 
ing around  us  the  breath  of  its  perfume.  The  bold  buds 
of  the  walnut,  ('giant  buds,'  as  we  loved  to  call  them,) 
were  bursting  their  velvet  envelope ;  the  little  gray-green 
leaves  of  the  white  oak  were  loaded  with  drops  of  crystal ; 
the  earth  displayed  a  darker  verdure ;  while  the  breeze 
came  pure  and  healthful,  as  the  first  that  sported,  I  say 
not  among  the  rose-bowers  of  Eden,  but  along  the  banks 
and  among  the  apple-blossoms  of  my  own  Almadora.  We 
gazed  upon  the  magnificent  prospect.  We  looked  in  the 
faces  of  one  another,  and  read  our  own  feelings  there. 

Twilight  was  fading  away  in  softness,  though  several  of 
those  crimson  clouds  that  accompany  the  sun's  departure, 
were  still  floating  in  the  west.  The  murmur  of  the  ocean 
reposed  on  the  shore ;  the  rising  moon  but  faintly  beamed 
upon  the  smooth  wave,  whose  yielding  surface,  as  an  Ital- 
ian poet  would  say,  the  lips  of  Zephyr  timidly  kissed  ; 
the  elements  ministered  delight ;  their  dewy  influences 
flowed  into  the  soul. 

"  And  shall  i#e,"  softly  exclaimed  Eumela,  "  shall  we 
remain  the  same  amid  these  views  of  beauty  ?  or,  resem- 
bling their  shortlived  loveliness,  shall  we  too  vanish  in  the 
obscurity  of  night  ?  " 

While,  in  a  meditative  spirit,  Eumela  thus  breathed  the 
feeling  of  her  heart,  Simplicio  bade  us  look  toward  the 
remote  horizon,  beneath  the  moon.  We  looked: — Was 
it  possible  ?  —  My  own  Barge  of  Vapour,  far  in  the  east, 
was  seen  moving  over  the  ocean.  As  it  approached  our 
elevated  spot,  hovering  high  above  the  island,  we  viewed 
its  exquisite  colour  and  form  ;  and  while  we  were  viewing, 
a  soft  symphony  came  to  our  ear,  like  the  far-off  music  of 
flutes,  clarionets,  and  bugles,  and  a  sweet  voice,  which  I 
instantly  recognized  as  that  of  my  Spirit-Bird,  stole  along 
the  still  air  ;  after  which  these  warbled  words,  as  if  in 
answer  to  the  breathing  of  Eumela,  were  distinctly 
audible  : 

Here,  while  a  shadowy  bourn  you  roam, 
Your  blooming  cheek  may  fade  to  snow ; 
Then  welcome,  'mid  your  island-home, 
The  liorht  that  shall  immortal  glow, 
The  Light  of  Life. 


301 

If  fade  to  snow  your  roseate  bloom, 
"Will  not  the  heart  all-radiant  shine  ? 
And  can  a  sweeter  smile  illume 
A  Seraph's  eye,  than  beams  from  thine, 
The  Smile  of  Soul  ? 

Those  crimson  clouds  of  eve  survey, 
Whose  roses  flush  the  west  afar  ; 
A  moonbeam  sheds  a  fainter  day, 
But  thro'  its  pale  mist  dawns  a  star, 

The  Star  of  heaven. 

The  melody  died  away  in  air.  Simplicio  addressed  us. 
There  was  something  more  than  mortal  in  his  commanding 
countenance.  Never  had  we  seen  there  before  an  expres- 
sion of  such  majesty,  such  intellectual  supremacy. 

"  My  dear  Maurice  and  Eumela,"  said  he,  "  you  know 
me  not.  How  should  you  know  me  ?  I  am  not  allowed 
to  disclose  the  nature  of  my  delegated  prerogative  ;  or  I 
ought  rather  to  say,  that  to  the  unprepared  mind  the  ac- 
count would  be  incomprehensible.  Something,  however, 
I  can  disclose,  and  that  I  impart  most  willingly. 

"I  am  a  native  of  St.  Brandan's,  and  a  graduate  of 
its  university.  Your  father,  Don  Guzman  D'Almanza, 
was  my  classmate  and  friend.  We  were  both  attached  to 
the  more  abstruse  studies  of  nature,  and  with  a  solemn  oath 
we  swore  not  only  to  befriend  each  other,  but  to  promote 
the  welfare  of  each  other's  family. 

"  The  peculiarities  of  my  studies  and  habits  disposed 
me  to  solitude  ;  and,  leaving  my  friend  in  the  full  enjoy- 
ment of  domestic  bliss,  I  removed  in  middle  life  to  this 
island  of  the  north.  Many  years  afterward,  when  he  fol- 
lowed me  in  his  day  of  bereavement,  I  welcomed  him  with 
all  the  warmth  of  our  college  attachment.  His  fate  here  was 
mysterious,  but  not  without  many  an  example  equally  sad. 
When  I  saw  at  his  death,  into  whose  hands  his  daughter 
would  fall,  I  determined  to  be  faithful  to  our  covenant  vow. 
The  requisitions  of  his  will,  too,  I  have  executed  to  the 
letter. 

"When  Maduba  and  a  miscreant  of  the  island,  both 
addicted  to  the  accursed  arts  of  sorcery,  had  persuaded  them- 
selves that  their  lives  and  fortunes  were  to  be  endangered 
by  Eumela  and  a  student  of  the  Almadora,  I  was  awake  to 
their  devices.  I  kept  mine  eye  upon  them;  and  the  night 
26 


302 

they  set  off  for  the  Almadora,  I  sent  my  bird-messenger 
to  disconcert  their  schemes,  and  to  bring  their  intended 
victim  to  this  island.  With  what  has  since  happened, 
you  are  already  well  acquainted ;  and  you  cannot  but  per- 
ceive, that  what  their  false  science  made  them  fear,  they 
have  themselves  effected,  —  that  they  have  accomplished 
the  very  doom,  which  they  were  striving  to  avert. 

"For  myself,  I  have  befriended  the  affectionate  and 
deserving  ;  and  my  bird-agent,  with  his  rhymes  and  his 
boat,  both  of  which  are  whims  of  his  own,  has  been  so 
busy,  that  we  stand  here  together  at  this  sweet  hour, 
unharmed,  and  with  the  influences  of  love  and  nature 
warm  on  our  hearts. 

"And  now,  my  children,  for  a  moonlight  excursion. 
Let  us  go  to  St.  Brandan's.  Why  wait  for  wind,  and 
waves?  Let  us  away,  —  away  for  the  island  of  Hope  and 
Memory !  Would  you  view  the  glory  of  that  island, 
gleaming  through  its  veil  of  mystery  ?  I  know  it  has  been 
for  years  the  impulse  of  hope  and  love,  the  dream  of  mem- 
ory and  imagination.  Yes,  I  perceive  your  joy,  your 
strong  emotion.  Farewell,  then,  and  good  night  to  our 
emerald  of  the  north." 

My  Barge  drew  nigh,  tinged  with  the  delicate  hues  of 
the  lunar  rainbow,  and  impelled  by  unseen  powers.  It 
hovered  in  the  air  before  us.  Softer  than  down,  yet 
stronger  than  any  fabric  of  man,  elastic  and  gently  heaving 
as  the  "  billows  of  the  air,"  was  that  mysterious  Boat. 
When  we  were  seated  in  it,  Eumela  pressed  my  hand. 
For  one  moment  I  was  tempted  to  clasp  her  to  my  heart, 
but  the  presence  of  Simplicio  checked  the  impulse.  He 
viewed  us  with  love,  and  a  portion  of  divinity  seemed  to 
beam  from  his  smile. 

Side  by  side,  Eurnela  between  us,  we  sat  impatient  for 
our  voyage.  All  at  once,  the  humming  of  wings  three 
times  whirred  across  our  caravel,  and  we  rose  amid  the  air 
like  a  balloon.  The  island  lessened,  became  a  dim  spot 
in  the  ocean,  —  it  vanished. 

"  Away,  away,  thro'  the  wide,  wide  sky, 
The  fair  blue  fields  that  before  us  lie." 

We   moved   toward   the    south   with  magic    swiftness, 


303 

viewing  the  ocean  below,  as  it  flashed  under  the  moon ; 
we  left  the  " scudding  stars"  behind  us;  and  hearing,  at 
times,  the  blithe  snatches  of  our  Bird,  we  felt  our  hearts 
swell  with  confidence.  We  were  too  full  of  wonder  and 
expectation  to  converse,  while  we  sat  awaiting  the  accom- 
plishment of  the  hopes  of  years.  Thus  hour  after  hour 
slowly  wore  away  ;  and  much  of  the  night  having  passed, 
we  imagined  that  we  must  now  be  near  completing  our 
voyage.  The  spicy  fragrance  of  the  south  came  wafted 
on  the  breeze ;  and  as  we  drew  near,  and  made  a  wide 
sweep  round  the  coast,  we  discerned  the  summits  of  two 
mountains  with  a  woody  ravine  between  them.  A  floating 
light  lay  on  the  headlands,  the  verdant  shores,  the  mead- 
ows, the  orange-groves,  the  plantations,  the  clustering 
villages,  the  palaces  and  pavilions,  of  the  island ;  and  we 
were  hovering  before  the  door  of  Eumela's  native  home. 
The  mansion  resembled  "  burnished  gold,"  and  was  "so  re- 
splendent that  it  shone  like  crystal."  We  were  just  on 
the  point  of  stepping  out  upon  the  turf,  expecting  every 
moment  to  see  the  friends  of  Eumela  throw  open  their  door, 
and  burst  forth  to  bid  us  welcome,  "  when  a  whirlwind 
came  rushing  down  the  ravine,"  and  with  such  violence  as 
to  hurry  our  Barge  out  over  the  sea.  To  struggle  against 
a  hurricane,  — what  could  it  avail !  —  Still  I  struggled,  and 
with  an  energy  almost  superhuman ;  but  as  I  looked  back, 
the  island  had  disappeared,  and  the  light  of  morning  had 
dawned,  over  the  waste  of  waters. 

When  the  whirlwind  rushed  upon  us,  I  had  started  from 
my  seat,  and  sprung  forward.  I  now  turned,  and  cast  a 
look  of  agonized  inquiry  toward  Eumela  and  Simplicio,  but 
a  thick  vapor  was  rolling  up,  and  shrouding  every  object 
from  my  sight.  Merciful  God  !  I  was  alone,  and  I  felt 
myself  gliding  over  the  sea  with  the  swiftness  of  thought. 
So  appalled  was  1  by  disasters  like  these,  that  I  exclaimed, 
"  Would  to  God  I  had  never  wasted  a  wish  on  St.  Bran- 
dan  s  !  "  and  sunk  down  in  a  state  of  half-consciousness, 
as  I  had  done  before  on  the  Bridge  of  Enchantment ;  and 
when  I  came  completely  to  myself,  I  found  I  had  returned, 
and  was  again  standing  upon  its  lofty  arch.  No  Eumela, 
no  Simplicio,  no  boat,  were  to  be  seen.  I  instantly  hur- 
ried home,  entered  my  room,  and  threw  myself  upon  my 


304 

brocade  sofa.  While  resting  there,  my  lamp  burning,  and 
my  solitary  study  around  me,  I  heard  the  voice  of  my  tame 
humming-bird,  as  if  he  too  were  in  the  same  jeopardy  and 
trouble  as  myself;  and  I  saw  him  come  whirring  toward 
me,  and  lighting  upon  the  forefinger  of  my  left  hand.  "  In 
the  name  of  Heaven,  "  I  exclaimed,  "  how  is  all  this  !  " 

My  north  window,  exactly  as  I  had  left  it,  —  whether  the 
year  or  the  evening  before,  1  knew  not,  —  was  raised  to  admit 
the  welcome  freshness  of  midsummer,  and  bright  flashes  of  the 
northern  lights  were  yet  streaming  up  the  heavens.  Nay  more, 
not  only  the  sound  of  a  remote  water-fall  and  the  still  re- 
moter ocean  came  to  my  ear  ;  but  as  I  have  said,  my  pet  hum- 
ming-bird, my  little  Jockey,  as  I  used  to  call  him,  had  actual- 
ly perched  upon  my  finger,  and  with  his  delicate  and  needle- 
pointed  claws  made  punctures  even  to  the  quick.  His  large 
melancholy  eye  was  looking  up  to  mine,  and  asking,  as 
well  as  he  was  able,  for  his  fairy  dole  of  honey  and  wa- 
ter, and  perfectly  unconscious  of  the  wild  adventures,  which 
his  namesake  had  been  aiding  and  abetting.  My  sympathy 
with  him  and  myself,  if  I  may  venture  to  use  such  a  phrase, 
made  me  almost  laugh  and  shed  tears  at  the  same  moment. 

I  fed  the  poor  little  fellow,  and,  remembering  the  story 
of  Mohammed,  could  not  but  wonder  at  the  mysteries  of 
the  human  mind.  Mohammed  (so  runs  the  legend) 
overset  a  pitcher  of  water,  the  very  moment  he  was  as- 
cending to  heaven  to  receive  his  divine  commission.  He 
went  up,  learnt  all  the  particulars  relative  to  his  office,  and 
returned  to  earth  before  a  drop  of  the  water  was  spilled. 
When  some  one  doubted  the  possibility  of  a  marvel  like 
this,  he  confirmed  his  miracle  by  adducing  the  instance  of 
a  man,  who  plunged  his  head  in  a  tub  of  water,  found 
himself  on  the  seashore,  went  on  board  a  ship,  sailed  away 
to  another  country,  married,  had  a  family  of  children,  and 
experienced  the  vicissitudes  of  a  long  life,  before  he  with- 
drew his  head  from  the  water.  Had  my  experiences 
borne  some  resemblance  to  these  ?  A  crowd  of  remem- 
brances oppressed  me,  and  among  others  the  solution  of 
my  ominous  leaf.  I  thought  I  could  easily  give  one,  and, 
like  Mozart  composing  his  own  requiem,  sing  my  finale  in 
some  such  strain  as  the  following : 


305 


Even  so,  dear  Euinela, 
Hope  darted  a  smile,  — 

The  dayspring  of  heaven, — 
Unfashioned  by  guile. 

A  rose-cloud  of  glory, 

A  vapour  divine, 
Infolded  (he  vision 

I  wooed  to  be  mine. 

While  hope  whispered  softly 
To  prove  the  dream  true, 

Reality's  sunbeam 

Dispersed  it  from  view. 


26* 


CHAPTER  X, 


THE  FINALE  FINISHED. 


"  A  gloomy  finale  that !  "  —  cried  my  Bird-spirit,  read- 
ing my  thoughts  and  again  becoming  visible,  as  he  kept 
hitching  along  his  old  perch,  not  far  from  his  brother, — 
"  quite  a  gloomy  finale,  and  a  true,  but  not  the  whole 
truth,  I  hope. 

"  You  beg  me  to  be  less  oracular,  and  to  speak  the  king's 
English,  do  you?  Then  go  back  to  your  midsummer 
night's  wish.  A  moment  listen  to  me,  —  listen  and  learn. 
I  remember  my  promise,  every  word  of  it.  You  may 
say  I  have  been  more  true  to  its  letter  than  to  its  spirit. 
Be  it  so.  I  am  bound  as  a  bird  of  honour,  to  give  you 
all  the  satisfaction  you  require.  I  have  no  wish  to  mock 
you  with  dreams.  'Truehearted  am  I? '  You  shall  have 
no  cause  for  complaint. 

"  The  smile  of  Hope,  I  allow,  was  bright  and  beautiful 
as  the  dawn  ;  the  vision  of  your  heart,  I  allow,  was  divine  ; 
but  I  do  not  allow  that  all  was  unreal.  The  promises  of 
hope  were  not  illusive ;  they  were  the  shadow,  that  went 
before  the  substance.  Would  you  have  proof?  Proof 
you  shall  have. 

By  rising  of  sun, 
Your  faith  shall  be  won. 

"Well,  you  have  had  your  wish :  you  have  been  once 
allowed  to  view  St.  Brandan's.  And  how  like  you  the 
wonders  and  mysteries  of  your  favourite  island  ?  No  doubt 
they  are  worth  the  whole  world,  —  fame,  fortune,  power, 
—  even  superior  to  your  love  of  woman  !  " 


307 

"I  like  them  so  well,"  I  answered,  "that  I  am  cured 
of  them.  I  am  more  happy  to  bid  them  farewell,  than  I 
was  to  visit  them." 

"  Rather  a  short  visit  too,"  said  my  bird-spirit,  sliding 
in  his  remark. 

"  Short  indeed,"  I  replied  :  "  I  leave  those  fatal  shores 
as  unexplored,  as  they  were  in  the  age  of  Columbus,  and 
to  some  more  fortunate  or  foolish  adventurer  than  myself, 
I  grant  all  right  of  discovery  and  possession." 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  said  my  bird  with  his  wild  Bob- 
o'link  chuckle.  "  Experience  is  the  natural  death  of 
wishes,  —  midsummer-night  wishes,  —  like  yours.  This 
your  revered  friend  knew  from  the  first,  and  his  aim  has 
been  to  free  you  from  the  folly  by  seeming  to  fall  in  with 
it.  Let  me  tell  you  a  secret.  There  are  two  grand 
points  in  the  laws  of  St.  Brandan's,  and  they  are  so  well 
guarded  as  never  to  be  broken.  They  are  these  :  no 
stranger  is  allowed  to  land  upon  the  island  ;  and  no  native, 
who  leaves  it  to  live  in  another  country,  is  ever  permitted 
to  return.  Your  friend,  I  repeat,  knew  all  this,  but  Eu- 
mela  never  heard  the  least" 

"  Eumela !  tell  me,  tell  me,"  I  broke  in  upon  him, 
"  what  of  Eumela  ?    where  is  she  ?    when,  how,"  — 

"Patience!  patience!"  the  little  fellow  went  on, — 
"  Eumela  lives,  and,  it  may  be,  lives  for  you.  What  more 
likely  ?  and  what  better  would  you  wish,  than  this  new 
way  to  get  a  wife  ?  —  Simplicio  knew  the  plottings  of  your 
two  enemies,  as  he  told  you,  and  sent  me  to  defeat  them. 
He  could  not  have  sent  a  more  willing  messenger  to  do 
his  spiriting.  I  hated,  and  not  without  cause  did  I  hate, 
these  foes  of  your  peace.  They  had  once  made  me  their 
slave ;  and  had  not  my  present  kind  master  delivered  me, 
I  might  have  been  their  slave  at  this  moment." 

"  And  then,  my  bright  Bird,"  I  exclaimed,  "  where 
would  Eumela  have  been  ?  and  where  should  I  be  myself? 
Now  tell  me  where  is  "  — 

"  Who  knows  where  ?  "  he  answered.  "  But  your 
suffering  and  your  disappointment, — had  they  been  even 
more  severe,  would  not  the  lady  you  have  won,  be  a  re- 
ward a  thousand-fold  more  rich  ?  Compared  with  worth 
like   hers,  what   are  sorcery  and  St.   Brandan's? — That 


308 

was  a  rash  word,  Maurice,  you  spoke  against  the  love  of 
woman  ;  but  since  meeting  your  maiden  of  the  north,  you 
have  learnt  a  wiser  lore.  —  To  your  tenderness  the  mys- 
terious old  man,  my  master,  now  intrusts  this  daughter  of 
his  friend ;  and  with  this  performance  of  his  promise 
to  her  father,  he  fades  from  the  world,  and  enters  upon 
that  higher  and  holier  sphere,  prepared  for  all  who  fear 
God  and  do  his  will." 

"  But  where  is  Eumela,  and  what  of  yourself  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  O,  I  am  off  to  my  happy  spirit-world,  though  I  mean 
just  to  look  in  upon  you  now  and  then.  I  assumed  the 
form  of  your  little  dull  Jockey  there,  so  drowsy  on  his  brave 
cord  of  crimson  silk,  and  have  accompanied  you  through 
all  your  adventures.     '  All  your  fortunes  I've  shared.'  ' 

"  But,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  where  is  Eumela  ?  when 
you  came  in  just  now,  I  was  bewildered  ;  I  was  afraid  our 
adventures  were  all  visionary  ;  and  they  were  a  dawn  of 
hope,  I  still  fear,  too  blessed  for  me." 

"  No,  believe  me,  all,  however  mystic,  all  have  been 
real,  plain  truth  of  fact  and  experience.  What  miracles 
cannot  spirits  perform  ?  With  them,  time,  space,  events, 
are  as  nothing.  I  play  with  the  supernatural,  as  the  wind 
plays  with  the  down  of  my  plumes.  Have  I  not  made  the 
last  few  hours  equal  to  as  many  months  ?  And  this  your 
dream  of  the  dawn,  that  I  have  been  so  busily  weaving  for 
you,  this  your  island  dream  of  the  heart,  —  shall  I  fail  to 
make  it  the  reality  and  sunshine  of  your  home  ?  Believe 
me,  I  never  leave  my  work  but  half  accomplished. 

"  Now  St.  Brandan's  give  o'er, 
Since  you've  seen  its  strange  shore  ; 
Never  give  me  the  he, 
For  truehearted  am  I ; 
And  the  truth  of  my  words 

Shall  most  clearly  be  seen, 
When  at  sunrise  you  visit 

Th'  Almadora  Ravine." 

The  Bird-spirit,  as  ever,  spoke  in  a  voice  of  music,  a 
wild  burst  of  melody  ;  —  he  spoke,  and  was  gone.  For  one 
moment,  as  he  vanished,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  changed 
form  and  features,  his  spiritual  beauty,  and  joyous  smile. 
But  both  he  and  the  moment  were  gone. 


309 

With  the  swiftness  of  love  and  hope  I  flew  to  the  ravine. 
Need  I  say  who  met  me  in  the  rich  morning  twilight  ? 
Need  I  say  who  bade  me  welcome  to  their  hearts  ?  Need 
I  say  from  whose  hand,  and  with  what  deep  joy,  I  received 
all  I  hold  most  dear  in  life  and  death  ?  —  We  sat  down 
upon  a  mossy  bank,  with  the  glorious  foliage  of  mid-sum- 
mer around  us,  and  there  the  wonders  of  the  night  were 
one  and  all  made  plain.  Our  experiences  had  all  been 
just  as  I  have  described  them  ;  we  had  both  of  us  lived 
and  loved  in  the  Land  of  Mystery  ;  and  we  now  met  the 
very  faces  and  features  we  had  known  in  our  island  abode, 
—  the  very  smiles  of  heart,  and  lip,  and  eye,  that  we  had 
been  accustomed  to  meet  there.  Yes,  we  could  not  but 
feel  and  know,  that  a  Power,  superiour  to  our  own,  had 
woven  the  mystic  web  of  our  destiny.  All  was  clear  as 
the  heaven  above  us,  —  all  bright  as  the  sunrise  over  the 
sea,  —  when,  leaving  our  seats  of  soft  verdure,  we  looked 
up  to  our  revered  preserver  in  confidence  and  love.  The 
moment  of  our  union  was  come,  the  last  act  in  our  drama 
of  St.  Brandan's.  Uniting  Eumela's  hand  with  mine  in 
holy  wedlock,  and  promising  still  to  watch  over  the  young 
friends  he  loved,  Simplicio  commended  us  to  God  ;  and 
then,  like  a  luminous  vapour,  he  rose  above  the  circling 
wall  of  leaves  and  branches,  and  faded  from  our  gaze 
through  the  azure  opening  of  heaven. 

Simplicio  was  gone.  We  viewed  his  departure  with 
awe  and  wonder,  grief  and  tears.  Simplicio  was  gone, 
and  we  saw  him  no  more.  We  were  left  alone  in  the 
world  ;  and  while  we  remembered  our  manner  of  coming 
together,  and  all  the  marvels  of  the  supernatural  that  had 
become  familiar  to  us  both,  we  felt  that  we  were  left  alone 
for  each  other,  —  left  to  aid  each  other  in  obeying  the  will 
of  that  Providence,  which  had  so  mysteriously  made  us 
one.  What  were  to  us  the  remote  regions  of  our  birth  ? 
that  Eumela  was  from  the  enchanted  isle  of  St.  Brandan's, 
and  that  my  own  native  home  was  the  banks  of  the  Alma- 
dora  ?  So  much  the  more  reason  had  we,  after  the  events 
of  the  past  night,  to  believe  that  Heaven  had  appointed 
our  fates  and  our  fortunes  to  be  the  same.  Our  hearts 
confided  as  well  in  their  own  impulses,  as  in  the  assurances 


310 

of  the  departed,  that  their  truth  and  tenderness  could  never 
die.  Hand  in  hand,  as  well  as  arm  in  arm,  we  went  to 
our  home  of  the  Almadora  ;  and  never  from  that  hour  to 
the  present,  though  many  years  have  now  glided  away, — 
many  more,  indeed,  than  we  are  well  able  to  realize, — 
never  have  we  formed  one  wish,  —  one  Mid-summer  Night's 
Wish, — to  visit  the  island  of  St.  Brandan.  With  faith, 
hope,  and  love,  we  have  never  felt  a  want ;  and,  possessed 
of  these,  what  need  have  we  to  wish  for  more  ? 


L'AMORE. 


[For  this  translation  of  Genevieve,  the  most  admired  of 
Coleridge's  minor  poems,  I  am  indebted  to  the  skill  and 
kindness  of  my  friend,  Mr.  Pietro  D'  Alessandro,  a  liter- 
ary gentleman  from  Palermo.  He  speaks  of  his  "  copy 
of  the  beautiful  Genevieve  in  her  simple  and  unpretending 
Italian  costume,"  and  adds  :  "  Dearly  as  I  love  my  own 
plain  and  modest  Ginevra,  I  feel  still  that  I  can  love  her 
faithfully,  only  so  long  as  her  elder  sister  remains  out  of 
sight ;  so  that  if  you  have  decided  to  put  the  temptation 
in  my  way,  the  responsibility  will  rest  entirely  on  you  ; 
for  I  shall  be  the  first  to  proclaim  that  Genevieve,  though 
a  few  years  older,  is  far  more  beautiful  than  Ginevra." 

It  is  true,  that  all  poetry  worthy  of  the  name,  as  my 
friend  once  said  to  me  of  Dante,  has  a  spirit  too  ethereal 
for  perfect  translation  ;  still,  warmly  as  ive  admire  the 
elder  sister,  the  land  of  Juliet  will  love  the  sweetness, 
feeling,  and  simplicity  of  the  younger  with  a  heart  not  less 
impassioned.] 


L'AMORE. 


I  pensieri,  i  desiri,  ogni  contento  — 
Quanto  la  mortal  forma  agita  e  affina  — 
Son  ministri  d'Amor,  sono  alimento 

Di  sua  fiamma  divina. 

Spesso  ne'  vaghi  sogni  miei  soglio  io 
Riviver  l'ora  a  me  etf-anto  arnica, 
Quand'  io  giacea  del  monte  in  sul  pendio 
Presso  la  torre  antica. 

Fioca  la  luna  per  le  quete  scene 
Co'  notturni  splendor  mesceasi  grata  ; 
Ivi  la  mia  speranza  era,  il  mio  bene, 
La  mia  Ginevra  amata  ! 

Sull'  uomo  armato  s'  appoggiava  lente, 
Sullo  scolpito  Cavaliero  in  armi ; 
Stava  Ella,  —  e  al  lume  del  chiaror  languente 
Intesa  era  a'  miei  carmi. 

II  proprio  duol  raro  affannö  di  tanto 

La  mia  Ginevra,  l'amor  mio,  il  mio  bene  ! 
E  m'  ama  piu,  quando  le  storie  io  canto 
Fonti  al  suo  cor  di  pene. 

Trassi  un  accordo  flebile  e  dolente, 

E  un'  antica  cantai  storia  pietosa  — 

Una  vecchia  canzon,  ma  confacente 

Quella  ruina  annosa. 


LOVE 


All  thoughts,  all  passions,  all  delights, 
Whatever  stirs  this  mortal  frame, 
All  are  but  ministers  of  Love, 

And  feed  his  sacred  flame. 

Oft  in  my  waking  dreams  do  I 
Live  o'er  again  that  happy  hour, 
When  midway  on  the  mount  I  lay, 
Beside  the  ruin'd  tower. 

The  moonshine,  stealing  o'er  the  scene, 
Had  blended  with  the  lights  of  eve  ; 
And  she  was  there,  my  hope,  my  joy, 
My  own  dear  Genevieve  ! 

She  leant  against  the  armed  man, 
The  statue  of  the  armed  knight  ; 
She  stood  and  listen'd  to  my  lay, 
Amid  the  lingering  light. 

Few  sorrows  hath  she  of  her  own, — 
My  hope  !  my  joy  !  my  Genevieve  ! 
She  loves  me  best,  whene'er  I  sing 

The  songs  that  make  her  grieve. 

I  play'd  a  soft  and  doleful  air, 
I  sang  an  old  and  moving  story, — 
An  old  rude  song,  that  suited  well 
That  ruin  wild  and  hoary. 
27 


314 

Di  rossore  suffusa  Ella  ascoltava, 
Con  occhi  bassi  e  alteramente  umile  ; 
Che  sapea,  come  intento  io.mi  beava 
Nel  volto  suo  gentile. 

Dissi  del  Cavalier  che  un  infocato 
Brando  portava  sullo  scudo  in  guerra  ; 
Com'  ei,  per  dieci  lunghi  anni,  avea  amato 
La  Dama  della  Terra. 

Come  d'  amore  egli  languia,  narrai  — 
Ma  gl'  infiammati,  e  i  rnesti  accenti  ond'  io 
Del  Cavalier  tutto  1'  araor  cantai, 
Le  interpretaro  il  mio. 

Di  rossore  suffusa  Ella  ascoltava, 
Con  occhi  bassi,  e  alteramente  umile  ; 
E  soffna,  se  raptto,  io  mi  beava 
Nel  volto  suo  gentile  ! 

Ma  quando  venni  il  rio  scorno  narrando 
Onde  il  bei  Cavaliero  ebbe  ad  ir  folle, — 
Com'  ei,  di  e  notte  i  boschi  attraversando, 
Mai  riposar  poi  volle  ; 

Come  talfiata  da  selvaggia  grotta, 
E  tal'  altra  da  selva  oscura  antica, 
Od  improvviso  spuntando  talotta 
Dalla  verde  ombra  aprica, 

A  lui  veniva,  e  in  viso  1'  affiggea 
Un  Angiolo  di  luce  risplendente  ; — 
E  il  Cavalier  tapino,  ahi !  conoscea 
Ch'  era  una  Furia  ardente  ! 

E  come,  ignaro  omai  di  quel  ch'  ei  fesse, 
Fra  i  masnadier  lanciossi  a  crucla  guerra, 
E  d'  aspra  morte,  e  dal  disnor  protesse 
La  Dama  della  Terra. 


315 

She  listen'd  with  a  flitting  blush, 
With  downcast  eyes  and  modest  grace  ; 
For  well  she  knew,  I  could  not  choose 
But  gaze  upon  her  face. 

I  told  her  of  the  Knight  that  wore 
Upon  his  shield  a  burning  brand  ; 
And  that  for  ten  long  years  he  woo'd 
The  Lady  of  the  Land. 

I  told  her  how  he  pined  ;  and  ah  ! 
The  deep,  the  low,  the  pleading  tone 
With  which  I  sang  another's  love, 
Interpreted  my  own. 

She  listen'd  with  a  flitting  blush, 
With  downcast  eyes  and  modest  grace  ; 
And  she  forgave  rrie,  that  I  gazed 
Too  fondly  on  her  face  ! 

But  when  I  told  the  cruel  scorn 
That  craz'd  that  bold  and  lovely  Knight, 
And  that  he  cross'd  the  mountain-woods, 
Nor  rested  day  nor  night ; 

That  sometimes  from  the  savage  den, 
And  sometimes  from  the  darksome  shade, 
And  sometimes  starting  up  at  once 
In  green  and  sunny  glade, 

There  came  and  look'd  him  in  the  face 
An  angel,  beautiful  and  bright  ; 
And  that  he  knew  it  was  a  Fiend, — 
This  miserable  Knight  ! 

And  that,  unknowing  what  he  did, 
He  leap'd  amid  a  murderous  band, 
And  sav'd  from  outrage  worse  than  death 
The  Lady  of  the  Land  ! 


316 

Come  Ella  poi  ne  pianse,  e  notte  e  giomo 
Pregö  a'  suoi  piedi,  e  scongiurollo  invano  — 
E  fe'  di  tutto  onde  espiar  lo  scorno 

Che  il  suo  fedel  fe'  insane-, — 

Come  in  un  antro  ministro   a  sue  doglie  . 
E  come  poi  cesso   la  sua  follia, 
Quando  su  di  silvestri  aride  foglie 
Moribondo  ei  languia. 

Gli  ultimi  detti  suoi,  —  ma  quando  a  tanta 
Miseria  estrema  la  mia  storia  giunse,  — 
L'  arpa  taceasi,  e  la  mia  voce  infranta 
Di  pietä  la  compunse  ! 

II  suon,  la  storia,  la  soave  calma 
Delia  sera  divina,  —  ed  il  frequente 
Fremito  interno,  e  1'  afT|(nnar  dell'  alma 
Mosser  la  mia  innocente. — 

E  speranze,  e  timori  ond'  e  la  speme 
Confusamente  accesa,  —  e  gl'  infiammati 
E  repressi  desir,  repressi  e  insieme 
Cotanto  vagheggiati ! 

Trasserle  un  pianto  di  pieta,  di  gioja, 
Di  verecondia  e  d'  amor  fiamme  ;  —  e  come 
Un  mormorar  di  sogno  che  si  muoja, 
Spi^rar  le  udii  '1  mio  nome. 

Le  ansava  il  petto  —  balzommi  dal  fiarrto, 
D'  un  guardo  accorta  che  tutta  1'  affranse  — 
Indi  improvvisa,  e  smorta  il  viso  bianco 
Volo  al  mio  seno,  e  pianse. 

Delle  braccia  cingendomi  piangea, 
E  mi  stringea  teneramente  al  petto, 
E  alzando  gli  occhi  in  viso  m'  affiggea 
Trepida  del  suo  affetto. 


317 

And  how  she  wept,  and  claspt  his  knees  ; 
And  how  she  tended  him  in  vain, — 
And  ever  strove  to  expiate 

The  scorn  that  crazed  his  brain ; 

And  that  she  nursed  him  in  a  cave  ; 
And  how  his  madness  went  away, 
When  on  the  yellow  forest-leaves 
A  dying  man  he  lay  : — 

His  dying  words — but  when  I  reach'd 
That  tenderest  strain  of  all  the  ditty. 
My  faltering  voice  and  pausing  harp 
Disturb'd  her  soul  with  pity  ! 

All  impulses  of  soul  and  sense 
Had  thrill'd  my  guileless  Genevieve  ; 
The  music,  and  the  doleful  tale, 
The  rich  and  balmy  eve  ; 

And  hopes,  and  fears  that  kindle  hope, 
An  undistinguishable  throng, 
And  gentle  wishes  long  subdued, 

Subdued  and  cherished  long  ! 

She  wept  with  pity  and  delight, 

She  blush'd  with  love,  and  virgin-shame  ; 

And  like  the  murmur  of  a  dream, 

I  heard  her  breathe  my  name. 

Her  bosom  heav'd — she  stept  aside, 
As  conscious  of  my  look,  she  stept — 
Then  suddenly,  with  timorous  eye, 
She  fled  to  me,  and  wept. 

She  half  enclosed  me  with  her  arms, 
She  press'd  me  with  a  meek  embrace  ; 
And  bending  back  her  head,  look'd  up, 
And  gazed  upon  my  face. 

27* 


318 

Era  amore,  era  speme,  era  timore, 
E  un  virgineo  era,  in  parte,  onesto  inganno, 
Perch'  io  sentir,  piu  che  veder  del  core 
Potessi  il  grave  affanno. 

E  P  acquetai  —  e  di  timor  fu  scevra, 
E  mi  disse  il  suo  amor  tutta  orgogliosa  . 
E  cosi  m'  acquistai  la  mia  Ginevra, 
La  tenera  mia  Sposa. 


319 

'T  was  partly  love,  and  partly  fear, 
And  partly  't  was  a  bashful  art, 
That  I  might  rather  feel,  than  see 
The  swelling  of  her  heart. 

I  calm'd  her  fears,  and  she  was  calm, 
And  told  her  love  with  virgin-pride. 
And  so  I  won  my  Genevieve, 

My  bright  and  beauteous  bride. 


NOTES. 


Vision  of  Beauty,  dear  Undine.  —  Page  9. 
This  name  is  pronounced  Oondee'na  in  German,  but  the  common 
English  pronunciation,  '  Undeen,'  seems  to  be  more  in  accordance  with 
our  mode  of  speaking  such   names   as   Emmeline,   Geraldine,   Iarine, 
Rosaline,  &c. ;  that  is,  Emmeleen,  Geraideen,  Eeareen,  Rosaleen. 

Masses  of  vapor  coursed  over  the  moon  with  the  swiftness  of  thought.  — 

Page  25. 
Some  of  these  images  may  remind  the  reader  of  the  vivid  pictures  of 
the  Buccaneer,  that  rich  contribution  to  our  permanent  literature  : 
"  The  scud  is  driving  wildly  overhead." 

"  The  seas  run  high  ; 
Their  white  tops,  flashing  thro'  the  night, 
Give  to  the  eager,  straining  eye, 
A  wild  and  shifting  light." 
We  do  not  remember  any  poem  of  this  class,  since  the  appearance  of 
the  Ancient  Mariner,  that  has  discovered  such  powers  of  imagination, 
the  union  of  such  sweetness  and  terrible  energy,  as  this  tradition  of  the 
olden  time.     We  have  had  here,  on  this  side   the  water,  many  of  the 
gentler  breathings  of  Nature,  but,  in  the  strong  delineation  of  passion, 
we  know  not  what  America  has  produced  to  be  well  compared  with  the 
Buccaneer. 

Is  this  trumpet-note  of  crime,  and  the  doom  of  crime,  the  last  '  sound  ' 
we  are  to  hear  from  '  the  Pyrenees  '  ?     We  hope  not. 

Dear,  dear  Undine !  —  Page  28. 
This  intensive  form  of  expression  is  almost  as  familiar  in  English  as 
in  German,  and   I   have   not  scrupled  occasionally  to  employ  it.     The 
following  example,  from  Tiialaba,  is  one  of  the  most  impressive  in  the 
language : 

"  No  sound  but  the  wild,  wild  wind, 
And  the  snow  crunching  under  his  feet." 
These  lines  from  the  Ancient  Mariner  afford  another  example,  and 
one  still  more  remarkable  : 

"  Alone,  alone,  all,  all  alone, 
Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea." 

And well,  other  things  will  settle  themselves.  —  Page  30. 

"  Undine  evidently  meant  to  have  added  another  condition,  but  then 
thinking  it  superfluous,  only  remarks,  — '  well,  other  things  will  settle 
themselves.'  "     C.  F. 


NOTES.  321 

You  are  yourself  the  cause.  —  Page  32. 
"  That  is,  you  act  or  speak  in  such  a  manner,  as  to  make  me  treat  you 
rudely.     Why  do  you  say  such  provoking  things?  —  It  is  a  kind  of 
tender  reproof,  in  self-defence."     C.  F. 

Noble  monuments  glimmer  below.  —  Page  56. 
No  reader  of  English  poetry  need  be  reminded  of  Southey's  admirable 
description  of  the  submarine  City  of  Baly  in  his  Curse  of  Kehama. 
"  In  sunlight  and  sea-green, 
The  thousand  palaces  were  seen 
Of  that  proud  city,  whose  superb  abodes 
Seemed  reared  by  giants  for  the  immortal  gods. 
How  silent  and  how  beautiful  they  stand, 
Like  things  of  nature." 

Free  lord  of  Kühleborn.  —  Page  61. 
"  Freiherr,"  baron.     There  is  something  peculiarly  whimsical  in  this 
quiet  humor  of  '  lord  or  baron  Kühleborn.' 

Name-day .  —  Page  67. 
A  literary  friend,  from  whose  kindness  I  have  derived  the  best  aid  in 
revising  and  correcting  my  version,  informs  me,  that  this  term  "  refers 
to  a  German  custom  of  celebrating,  not  only  the  birth-day,  but  also  the 
name-day,  that  is,  the  day  which  in  the  almanac  bears  the  person's  Chris- 
tian name.  The  old  almanacs  contained  a  name  for  each  day  in  the 
year,  being  either  the  name  of  a  saint,  or  some  other  remarkable  person- 
age in  history." 

The  preceding  note  was  written  six  years  ago.  The  friend  to  whom 
I  referred,  is  now  with  God.  He  perished  in  the  appalling  calamity  of 
the  steamboat  Lexington,  on  the  evening  of  January  13,  1840 ;  and  I 
cannot  but  allow  myself  the  mournful  indulgence  of  adding,  that  it  was 
the  late  lamented  Charles  Follen,  LL.  D.,  to  whom  the  allusion 
was  made.  The  words  of  Horace  never  seemed  so  natural  as  now  : 
"  Quis  desiderio  sit  pudor  aut  modus 

Tarn  cari  capitis  ? 

—  cui  Pudor,  et  Justitiaß  soror 
Incorrupta  Fides,  nudaque  Veritas, 

Quando  ullum  inveniet  parem  ? 
Multis  ille  bonis  flebilis  occidit.' 
Shall  we  not  weep  ?  Shall  tenderness  e'er  die 

For  one  so  dear  ? 

O  when  shall  modest  Genius,  spotless  Faith, 
Sister  of  Justice,  guileless  Truth,  e'er  look 
Upon  his  like  again  ?    All,  all  the  good 
Bewail  his  fate  in  tears. 
With  every  friend  of  literature,  religion,  and  human  happiness,  we 
are  impatient  to  receive  the  promised  Memoir  and  Remains  of  one  so 
truly  christian,  —  one  so  exalted  in  wealth  and  power  of  intellect,  so 
childlike  in  spirit,  so  holy  in  heart  and  life. 

Morning  so  bright.  —  Page  69. 
In  reading  some  of  the  verses  of  Fouque,  we  cannot  but  remember 
the  question  of  Hamlet  to  the  player,  — '  Is  this  a  prologue,  or  the  posy 
of  a  ring  ?  '     As  one  example,  among  many,  we  may  take  the  original 
of  his  miniature  picture  here  : 

"  Morgen  so  hell, 

Blumen  so  bunt, 

Gräser  so  duftig  und  hoch 

An  wallenden  See's  Gestade." 


322  NOTES. 

These  four  little  lines,  descriptive  of  the  scene  of  Undine's  song,  sim- 
ple as  they  are,  cost  me  more  trouble  in  trying  to  mould  them  into  a  fit 
English  form,  than  I  well  like  to  acknowledge.  I  made  several  attempts, 
without  much  success,  to  translate  them  to  my  mind.  Among  these 
versions,  the  following  had  the  merit  of  not  being  the  worst : 

'  The  morning  beams  in  glory, 

Where  wild-flowers  gaily  bloom, 

Where  dewy  grass  is  waving 

The  lake's  fresh  marge  along  ;  ' 
but  after  all,  the  more  verbal  rendering,  as  it  now  stands,  seemed  to  be 
preferable. 

The  familiar  and  affectionate  terms.  —  Page  76. 
The  words  of  the  original  are,  "  nur  nenne  mich  wieder  Do,"  '  only 
do  call  me  thou  again.'  The  use  of  the  personal  pronouns,  thou  and 
thee,  so  familiar  and  endearing  in  the  German  idiom,  gives  an  entirely 
different  impression  in  English.  In  the  conversations  of  this  tale,  ex- 
amples of  this  peculiarity  occur  on  almost  every  page.  The  translator 
has  of  course  avoided  a  mode  of  expression,  which  most  of  his  readers 
would  feel  to  be  stiff,  strange,  and  unsuitable. 

A  laugh  of  mockery  and  contempt  came  pealing  up  from  the  depth  of  the 
river.  —  Page  97. 
This  fine  passage  of  Fouque  bears  a  strong  resemblance  to  a  finer  one 
in  Southey's  Thalaba,  Book  V. 

"  And  he  drew  off  Abdaldar's  ring, 
And  cast  it  in  the  gulf. 
A  skinny  hand  came  up, 
And  caught  it  as  it  fell, 
And  peals  of  devilish  laughter  shook  the  cave." 
The  reader,  if  he  take  any  interest  in  the  coincidences  of  genius,  may 
like  to  compare  with  these  passages,  the  following  verse  from  king  Ar- 
thur's death  in  Percy's  Reliques  : 

"  A  hande  and  an  arme  did  meet  the  sworde, 
And  flourish'd  three  times  in  the  air  ; 
Then  sunke  benethe  the  renninge  streme, 
And  of  the  duke  was  seene  noe  mair.  ' 

Only  little  waves  were  yet  whispering  and  sobbing  around  the  boat. — Page  98. 
The  original  of  this  clause  is,  "  nur  flüsterten  noch  kleine  Wellchen 
schluchzend  um  den  Kahn."  If  the  translator  may  be  allowed  to  ex- 
press his  admiration,  without  being  considered  intrusive,  he  would  say 
that  nothing  could  have  been  more  exquisitely  conceived  than  this  cir- 
cumstance. Its  tenderness  seems  to  have  touched  the  heart  of  a  lover 
of  the  beautiful  and  true,  who  has  just  favored  us,  in  his  '  Year's  Life,' 
with  so  much  of  fine  feeling  and  poetical  experience  : 

"  Or  weep,  unmindful  if  my  tears  be  seen, 
For  the  meek,  suffering  love  of  poor  Undine." 

The  bridegroom.  —  Page  101. 
The  betrothed,  are  called  bride  and  bridegroom  in  Germany. 

Earliest  moment  of  dawn.  —  Page  103. 
"  Post  mediam  noctem  visus,  quum  somnia  vera."  —  Horat. 

No  great  murder  in  such  trifles.  —  Page  105. 
"  Denn  er  denkt  gewiss  blutwenig  an  alle  diese   Dinge."     '  For  he 
surely  thinks  very  little  of  all  these  things.'     The  temptation  to  render 


NOTES.  323 

this  odd  idiom,  bluticenig,  by  some  equivalent  phrase  in  English,  was  a 
whim  too  strong  to  be  resisted. 

A  thrill  both  of  bliss  and  agonij.  —  Page  110. 

The  expression  of  the  original  is,  "  lieblichen  Wehe,"  'a  blissful  ago- 
ny' or  lpang.'  This  union  of  opposite  qualities,  however  bold  the  con- 
ception producing  it,  and  however  suited  to  express  the  death-pang 
under  such  circumstances,  forms  a  euriovs  felicity,  rather  too  violent  to 
be  often  admitted  in  English.  Phrases  of  this  kind  are  more  familiar  in 
German. 

Groschen.     Thaler.     Ducat.  — F  age  124. 

"  A  Saxon  groschen  is  about  3  cents  (2  cents,  9  mills ;)  a  thaler,  (an 
imaginary  coin)  72  cents  (71  cents,  8  mills  ;)  a  ducat,  2  dollars  20  cents, 
(2  dollars,  19  cents,  4  mills,)  American  money." 

Waters— feeling  of  sympathy.  —  Page  142. 
This  sympathy  of  Nature  with  man,  may  remind  the  reader  of  the 
fine  imaginative  feeling  of  Bryant  in  the  opening  of  his  Thanatopsis. 
Speaking  of  Nature,  and  of  one  who  "  holds  communion  with  her  vis- 
ible forms,"  the  poet  observes,  that  to  such  an  one, 

"  She  speaks 
A  various  language  ;  for  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty,  and  she  glides 
Into  his  darker  musings,  with  a  mild 
And  gentle  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness,  ere  he  is  aware." 

Phantasmion. —  Page  16'6. 
I  was  not  a  little  gratified,  three  years  after  my  Table-Talk  Notices  of 
these  "  dreams  of  faery "  were  written,  to  meet  with  the  deserved 
praise  of  this  '  unique  '  story  in  the  London  Quarterly  Review  ;  and  I 
cannot  deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  quoting  the  passage  in  this  place. 
"  '  Phantasmion  '  is  not  a  poem  ;  but  it  is  poetry  from  beginning  to  end, 
and  has  many  poems  within  it.  It  is  one  of  a  race  that  has  particularly 
suffered  under  the  assaults  of  political  economy  and  useful  knowledge  : 
—  a  fairy  tale,  —  the  last,  we  suppose,  that  will  ever  be  written  in 
England,  and  unique  in  its  kind.  It  is  neither  German  nor  French.  It 
is  what  it  is  —  pure  as  a  crystal  in  diction,  tinted  like  an  opal  with  the 
hues  of  an  ever-springing  sunlit  fancy." 

Rivulet  —  seeking  its  fortune.  —  Page  181. 
"  Sie  rann  und  sucht'ihr  Glück."  —  Undine. 

High-priests  of  JVature.  —  Page  182. 
This,  of  course,  was  written  prior  to  the  death  of  Coleridge,  —  many 
years  before  he  was  admitted  to  visions  of  the  universe,  to  which  the 
views  of  earth,  views  even  glorious  as  this,  are  dim  as  the  earliest  dawn. 

"  Queen  of  Western  Isles."  —  Page  187. 

From  Park  Benjamin's  beautiful  lines,  written  in  that  "  fair  Elysian 
isle,"  Barbadoes. 

By  the  way,  when  are  we  to  welcome  this  writer's  Sibylline  Leaves 
in  a  collected  form  ?  There  are  many  who  feel  his  spirit,  the  easy  flow 
of  his  verse,  as  well  as  his  fine  touches  of  nature,  —  many,  who  have 
been  long  waiting  to  see,  not  only  these  compositions  gathered  from  the 
four  winds,  but  others  of  greater  extent,  whether  narrative  or  dramatic, 
permitted  to  come  forth  from  their  Delphic  recesses. 


324  NOTES. 

1  Thunder-word.'  —  Page  187. 

"  Ach  !  und  mit  dem  Donnerworte."  —  Schiller. 

How  I  looked,  how  I  languished,  fyc.  —  Page  195. 

"  Ut  vidi,  ut  perii,  ut  me  malus  abstulit  error  !  " — Virgil. 
Forever  changeful  and  mutable.  —  Page  208. 

"  Varium  et  mutabile  semper       (  Virgil.J 

fcc „,«.-».*. /-  Strozzi.  — Page  209. 

This  is  a  version,  the  name  only  changed,  of  one  of  the  Madrigale 
of  Giovambatista  Strozzi.  See  that  delightful  melange  of  literature, 
the  Biographia  Literaria  of  S.  T.  Coleridge.  When  may  we  hope  to 
have  a  full  memoir,  or  a  new  edition  of  this  work,  enriched  with  origi- 
nal letters,  the  omitted  chapter  on  the  '  esemplastic  '  power  of  the  imag- 
ination, and  many  other  matters  that  we  are  impatient  to  greet  ?  Where, 
too,  can  the  '  Philosophical  Fragment  '  be  lingering  from  year  to  year  ? 
But  we  are  too  importunate,  we  fear,  considering  what  treasures  of 
thought  we  have  already  received  from  the  Coleridge  mine.  Besides, 
we  are  waiting  in  confidence  as  well  as  in  hope  :  Mr.  Green,  the  author 
of  'Vital  Dynamics,'  cannot  but  give  us  this  "  fragment  from  the  table 
of  the  gods  "  both  ably  and  at  the  best  time. 

Bobolink.  —  Page  258. 

This  is  one  of  the  most  joyous  birds,  that  pay  us  their  annual  visit  of 
the  warm  season.  He  seems  to  be  the  very  impersonation  of  "tipsy 
mirth  and  jollity." 

Among  bird-amateurs,  however,  there  is  a  slight  difference  of  feeling 
in  regard  to  the  characteristics  of  his  mind  and  music.  Some  receive 
the  impression  from  his  "  sweet  jargoning,"  his  grave  glee,  we  may  call 
it,  that,  shaking  his  wig  of  pale  yellow  with  an  air  of  the  most  comic 
solemnity,  he  is  cracking  his  jokes  and  wasting  his  musical  bon-mots 
upon  the  sober  birds  around  him,  from  morning  to  night ;  and  that  even 
his  name,  Robert  of  Lincoln,  he  considers  as  much  too  grave  for  him, 
since  he  is  never  weary  of  reminding  you,  that  '  Bobolink,'  '  Bobolink,' 
is  the  true  christening. 

But  others  there  are,  who  "  see  nothing  of  the  jocose  in  Bob."  In 
their  view,  "  he  has  a  heart  full  of  joyous  sensations,  and  pours  them 
out  with  utter  delight ;  but  he  is  no  quizzer,  —  too  innocent  in  his  mirth 
for  that,  too  much  taken  up  with  mere  happy  sensation  for  it." 

Who  shall  reconcile  these  differences  of  feeling  ?     Coleridge  seems 
to  have  made  this  abstruse  item  of  bird-metaphysics  quite  clear  : 
"  O  Lady  !  we  receive  but  what  we  give, 
And  in  our  life  alone  does  nature  live." 


THE  END. 


